Aca-demic Arrangements
by dulce.de.leche.go
Summary: Modern AU - Primarily Tomione but other pairings will happen (het/slash) - Hermione's just a small town girl, livin' in a lonely world. She took the midnight plane on a journey to LA in order to pursue her dream. What could possibly go wrong? - Not quite a crack!fic. Un-beta'd and rated M for sexual references, situations, and a lot of language. An a cappella story of aca-love.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N Disclaimer:** 1.) You probably shouldn't read this.

2.) If you DO read this, please keep in mind that this is nothing but ridiculousness and the closest that I can feasibly come to fluffy stories. This is a de-stressor fic and is NOT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY AT ALL.

3.) Setting is modern AU in a mystical place in Los Angeles, CA that doesn't exist with some of the characters holding true to their countries of origin and others not so much.

4.) This is mainly for my amusement but you're welcome along for the ride.

Much Love!

Slik

 **A/N Update! (9/6/2017) -** For folks that don't follow me on Tumblr, I will be going back through all the chapters of this fic to fix some small inconsistencies and such in preparation for the stretch to finishing it and making everything actually make some sort of sense. For those of you just joining, I hope you enjoy what is here, but you may also choose to revisit it later once the chapters have been updated (your choice). Just wanted to keep everyone in the loop!

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 01**

"Venti, Hermione, _VENTI!_ "

"Shite. Yes, yes, sorry, venti— _VENTI._ " Hermione grumbled to herself and started over with her hundredth drink order. If anyone had told her that her pursuit of higher learning was going to land her in a minimum wage coffee shop job as a barista making venti, sugar-free vanilla lattes with soy milk or tall, skinny, hazelnut macchiatos she would have asked someone to put her out of her misery a long, long time ago.

" _Grande, cinnamon dolce latte, no whip."_

"Hermione!"

"Got it! I got it! I got it!"

She took the cup passed over to her and went to work trying to pretend that the humidity wasn't absolutely destroying her hair. Hermione brewed and poured, pumped and jiggled all sorts of levers – just _fuck_ , she wasn't even sure what some of these did still – and made something that she was fairly certain would be considered a cinnamon dolce latte.

Taking the cup in hand and slipping a tiny biodegradable sleeve around it, she swiped her forearm across her brow and huffed. Hermione squinted at the Sharpie on the cup and blinked out into the late, late, late crowd.

"Uh…Rickle?" She nudged the drink out onto the pickup station and lingered a moment. She'd heard some pretty strange names since she came out to LA but that was certainly—

"You mean _Riddle_?"

Hermione startled at the obviously annoyed tone directed towards her. It wasn't so much the attitude behind it as it was the rarity of actually being engaged by one of the patrons that entertained the idea of coffee at such a late hour. "P-pardon?"

A tall man with impossibly dark hair that she suspected was a little too blue to be natural stepped forward. His lips were pursed slightly and it made his hollow cheeks that much more gaunt, his cheekbones all perfectly sharp and angular. His skin was light, though not _too_ pale against his most-likely-dyed hair and she noted some interesting looking plugs in the lobes of his ears, black and solid and at least a couple of centimetres in diameter. Hermione's eyes scanned over his person and found that he sported broad shoulders for his lean frame and though he looked tired and rumpled in a perspiration dotted, half buttoned button down with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he was _quite_ striking.

He scowled at her and her examination of him, bothering with no kind of pleasantries. "Riddle. You mean Riddle."

Hermione watched him take up the fully recyclable coffee cup and turn it in his hand to scowl at the butchered name on it. She blinked at the fat black stone sitting atop a band on his middle finger and her eyes wandered down to the inked lines making up a mess of images peppering his exposed arm. The click of his tongue drew her stare back up to his face and she watched the hollows of his cheeks suck in even more for the barest of seconds in his irritation.

"Bloody arseholes. Every bleedin' time—"

 _Wait._

 _Bloody-_

 _Arse-_

 _Bleedin'-_

Hermione perked up as if she'd just found a buoy in the middle of the ocean. There were plenty of people from all walks of life and all cultures where she'd… 'moved' to, but this was the first since she'd arrived that she found someone that hailed from her home country.

Perhaps it was the excitement that allowed the words to slip so cheerfully past her lips. "You're English!"

Dark eyes darted to her face still looking quite unamused at both the cock up of his name as well as _her_. "Yes. And?"

Her excitement deflated a bit like a popped balloon complete with the sputtering. "Ah-well—I—uh. M-me too. English also. I am."

Riddle draped some sort of fuzzy jumper thing he'd been carrying over his other arm over his shoulder instead and brought his cup towards his mouth even as he rose an eyebrow at her ineloquent dialogue. "I've noticed." His tone was dry and tired and he tilted the drink back for a sip—and immediately sneered, swiping a thumb across his lips as if he'd just tasted a literal pile of shit. "I said _no whip._ The name was clearly wrong but are you really such a daft bint that you can't even understand a 'check' in the box next to ' _ **no**_ _whip'_?"

Hermione blinked.

And again.

"S-sorry, did you just call me a 'daft bint'?" she asked disbelievingly.

Riddle kept doing that scowling thing he'd been doing since he'd been so gracious as to bestow his most royal attention on her. " _Yes_. And you just so merrily proclaimed that you're a Brit, so I'm sure you know what it means. Unless you're faking that in addition to your apparent inability to _read_."

Something might have crackled a tad in her head. " _Excuse_ me?"

He sighed and leaned in, lowering his voice in a patronizing manner and exaggerating each word with long syllables and massive facial movements. "Do you need me to translate the picture for you?"

Hermione ran her tongue along the edge of her teeth, fingers digging into the counter until they turned white. The insistent urgings from one of her coworkers and the side eye she'd been receiving from the cashier blurred into the background as she narrowed her gaze on this terribly rude man with his stupidly perfect cheekbones.

 _You_ _ **need**_ _this job. You_ _ **NEED**_ _this job. You can't afford to lose another one. Things are different. They don't know you here. Your shift's almost over and you can just go…'home' and sleep it off._

She inhaled deeply and tried her best to exhale the bubbling rage that was circulating through her. "Apologies," Hermione grit out and reached for his cup, "I'll make you another—"

Riddle dismissively swatted her reaching hand away. "No need for that—" He leaned closer still and squinted at her name tag. " _—Hermione_. I'll drink _this_ one. You may want to brush up on your English before your next shift, though. That, or learn sign language or braille so that you at least have some options so you don't botch anything _else_ up."

The something that crackled before now fizzled and popped and completely short circuited in a glorious internal explosion.

It _might_ have been the filter between her brain and her mouth.

"Oh, that won't be necessary my _Lordship_. Tonight was simply an accident and I happen to already be multilingual, you see?"

Hermione smiled politely and made a grand motioning gesture towards him that made him tilt his head curiously.

Still smiling, she made a shape at her abdomen with her hands, thumbs and index fingers touching in a sort of diamond shape. She then moved to hold one hand out before her, open and flat, palm side up, then took the other and made a 'W' shape with three fingers before dragging them first from fingertips to heel and then from one side of her palm to the other.

"See? American Sign Language? Already a thing."

His narrowed eyes became more squinty and suspicious the wider her smile grew as he obviously had no idea what she'd just said to him. He furrowed his brow deeply and she shifted to look at the clock on the far wall past his fool head. With a thankful sigh at the fact that she had apparently managed to kill enough time to call this dreadful double shift to a close, she produced an even whiter, more dangerous looking flash of teeth.

"Pleasure speaking with you, _Rickle._ Here's one from home you might recognize," Hermione said airily and flicked up an underhand pair of fingers in his direction. She didn't bother turning around to see his reaction, entirely uninterested in seeing the look on his prattish face, nor did she even pause in her stride at the irate and repeated call of her name by either of her coworkers.

 _Brilliant Hermione._

An irksome little voice nag, nag, nagged at her in her head while she divested herself of her coffee and syrup ridden apron.

 _Flipping off a customer and signing that he is a twat waffle is sure to secure this job you so desperately need._

Hermione groaned inwardly and punched out. She collected her things and snuck out the back door, stealthily avoiding both the angry glares from her fellow employees at her too prompt departure and any possible chance of avoiding the git that had insulted her in the front of the store. If she were to see him again, being off the clock and all, she might not be able to control the more visceral reaction of a right cross to his jaw that – she was pretty sure – would 100% get her fired…as well as 100% get her incarcerated.

She huffed and scoffed at herself, "Because when the boss hears about this, I'm _**so**_ still going to have a job…ugh."

She would look in the paper in the morning. Right now, she _really_ just wanted to get a bit of shut eye.

With a sag to her shoulders and a shuffle to her step, Hermione trudged down the street to her car where she kept it tucked neatly away from prying eyes as much as she could. Wrenching the big, steel door of the Town Car open, she shimmied into the back seat, stretching out along its length around the assortment of bags and bundles she had to resort to keeping there before catching her toe in the door handle and tugging it shut behind her.

Hermione wriggled around her belongings, checking all the little suction cups to her fold out screens on the windows to make sure nothing was going to come falling on her face in the middle of the night and scare the bejeebus out of her as they always tried their damnedest to do. Fluffing one of her well-worn pillows, she spread a blanket over her legs and kicked around until she was as comfortable as she was going to get cuddling her ratty little stuffed cat plush with its ornery looking squashed face.

"We'll show mum and dad, won't we, Crookshanks? We don't need their help out here…we'll make it _just_ fine on our own." Hermione blinked and sighed at her 'cat', gave it a little kiss on the head and wriggled some more until she thought she might be able to nod off.

She sighed.

At least her bench seats were roomy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 02**

Hermione had caught about two and a half hours of sleep before she had to wake up and sneak into the women's showers to start her day of class.

It was something of a bitch not having easy, immediate access to hot, running water, but she'd perfected the art of dodging the women's swim team for it most mornings. Sure, she may still not have a blow drier, or really the disposable income right now to get one, and maybe she sometimes nicks that one girl's – Carrie…Christy? …Cynthia… _C-word_ , she _was_ a bit of a cunt after all what with how she would screech sometimes about her missing blow drier but she _always_ puts it back, so she's _clearly_ just overreacting; C-word it was then – but nobody minds a wet head so long as you don't drip on their things.

In any case, Hermione had wrangled a piddly little set of hours for rest, worked through her course load for the day, and – unsurprisingly – found herself sitting in her boss' office now at what should be the start of her evening shift for the day.

Mr. Lockhart was looking at her with that peaceful sort of look he always sported. It was one Hermione thought was terribly out of place for someone that owned a coffee shop and all the stresses that came with it, but it was there.

She swallowed thickly.

"Look, Mister Lockhart—"

He cut her off with a politely raised hand gesturing her to wait.

Her jaw snapped shut and she sat at attention.

"Miss Granger."

He paused for an awkwardly long moment.

Hermione fidgeted in her seat, eyes darting to the side once or twice before finally, "Mis…ter Lockhart?"

" _Miss_ Granger," he said again with more emphasis, stopping once more after speaking her name and leaning toward her some, blue eyes glittering.

Her brow furrowed and she found herself leaning forward as well. " _Miss-_ ter Lockhart?"

There was another _strange_ stretch of silence between them that hung in the air so long she opened her mouth to say something but he chose that precise instant to sit back once more in his chair and plant both of his hands on his desk with a resounding _**SLAP**_.

"Miss Granger, Miss Granger, Miiiiiiiiiiss _Gran-GER._ "

Hermione's confusion was bleeding into a scowl. _Now he was just being_ _ **weird.**_ " _Look_ ," she said again, irritation creeping into her tone, "Mister Lockhart, if this is about last night, I'm sorry."

He was staring; it was unsettling.

"…and it will never happen again."

His head cocked to the side like a bird's and Hermione admired the way his curly blond locks held their perfect form.

"…pinky swear?" She wiggled one of her little fingers at him and all of a sudden he guffawed loudly and suddenly enough to startle her again in her chair.

"Miss Granger, let me be frank with you: I haven't the slightest idea of what you're referring to."

Hermione's mouth popped open in a tiny "o" and she had just a second to start looking relieved when he continued.

"And _frankly_ , I don't really want to know. What concerns me, today at least, is this."

And she found an interesting little stack of papers being slid her way across his desk.

At first, Hermione's furrowed brow deepened, trying to make out what exactly all this paperwork was about because – Lord knows she didn't have enough bloody papers to examine on a daily basis – but when it finally clicked, that furrow turned to something that may have resembled cold, horrifying dread.

"Mister Lockhart, I can explain—"

"Miss Granger, I run a reputable establishment here-"

"Yes, sir, but—"

"I fulfill the needs of the community by making sure they are routinely caffeinated—"

"I understand, sir—"

"—consistently full of locally provided baked vittles—"

"Yes, I know, but—"

"—unencumbered by their spare change by providing them with opportunities to frivolously consume a multitude of unnecessary java options-"

"Sorry, what?"

"—so I'm sure you can understand that in order to remain in business I cannot knowingly be employing someone in your particular situation."

Hermione, having been a little lost up to that point, now straightened and tried to contain her frantic panic; she really didn't want to go through the process of finding another job. Background checks were getting harder and harder to circumvent – read: falsify – and, as was evident from the appearance of the stack of papers before her, could end up biting her in the ass anyway.

"Oh, _no,_ Mister Lockhart, _please._ Just let me explain. It wasn't even a felony—I mean, it was just a minor offense _really—_ "

" _ **Miss**_ Granger." The man cut off her babbling before it could get much further. "I am not talking about your criminal record – I actually _can't_ fire you for that, not with these particular charges, anyway. Although I will admit to being a bit curious as to how you managed to fit a pipe _there_ —"

"Mineral oil." Hermione paused, eyes widening a bit, then said, "Allegedly."

" _Really_? That poor man must have had some interesting movements afterwards."

"Yeah…" A grin spread slowly across her face as she got caught up in a memory. "Must have."

Mr. Lockhart blinked at the girl then cleared his throat. "Anyway…from this file of…past incidents, while several of them were very… _concerning—"_

Hermione looked over at the one he seemed to be focusing very intensely on and hurriedly pointed to another spot on the sheet. "I was acquitted."

He gave her a look. "—the main thing that may be of most immediate concern is the fact that you are, by definition, homeless."

She blinked oddly at him. There were several beats of confused silence as she stared at the very serious face of her manager before she finally asked, _"What?"_

"Unless you happen to be _allegedly_ homeless as well?"

"Uh…"

"Because I'm fairly certain this address is actually the recycling plant down the road."

"Um."

"With a suite number attached to it."

Hermione scrunched her nose and even as he was continuing, she flapped a hand at him and bade him to stop. "Wait, wait, wait. So…you might have to fire me because I'm homeless and _not_ because I shoved a pipe up my ex's arse and bludgeoned him with it?" She blinked. "Allegedly."

"Yes." Mister Lockhart blinked as well. "Allegedly." Then he tilted his head again in puzzlement. "No, hold on, not allegedly. I can't just employ a homeless person. That is fact."

"Ah." She nodded and sat back in her chair as she processed that. "Well. Right then. That's that, I suppose." Hermione sat forward again suddenly. "I mean, is that a _law_ or—" At another _look_ she sat back in her seat once more. "Okay..."

A poignant, very strange, very awkward silence filled the space between them once more – really the man was a king of awkward silences and space bubble encroachment – then Mr. Lockhart sighed.

"Hermione."

She perked up.

"You seem like a nice girl-"

Her face morphed into a look of astonishment for just before she stifled it.

"Do you like working for me?"

Hermione's eyes widened and her mouth flapped several times before stammering, "A-a-a-absolutely, Mister Lockhart! I love it! The late shifts, the leaving here smelling like a combination between roasted beans and an amalgamation of different saccharine sweet syrups and the whipped cream that somehow manages to get in my shoes, the blister that still hasn't quite healed from knocking the side of that molten hot carafe, I mean… _ **YES**_. I love this job! I absolutely love-this-job!" She flashed him the widest smile she could muster and added hastily, "Please don't fire me, sir, I need this job. I mean, I NEED this job."

The man sighed and shook his head. "Alright, here's the deal. I'll keep you on if you can find a legitimate place to stay-"

Hermione's head was bobbing in an affirmative even before he was finished speaking. "Oh _THANK YOU_ , Mister Lockhart—"

"I can't pretend I don't know about this."

"I understand, sir, I'll look right away. I'm sure I can figure out something and find some place by the end of the month. It shouldn't take any longer than a couple of weeks, I'm sure—"

"You have until Friday."

Hermione's acquired steam seemed to just sputter into nonexistence.

"Friday?"

"Yes."

"Like… _this_ Friday?"

"Correct."

"Three days from now, Friday."

"That's the one!"

She went back to slumping in the seat across from her boss with a defeated set to her shoulders.

 _Friday? …Friday. How the hell was she going to find a place to live by the end of the week with some tip money and possibly some change from her swear jar?_

Either Mr. Lockhart sensed her renewed level of dismay or it must have been plastered clear as day on her face – she was betting on the latter – because he was now sliding a scrap of paper her way with what appeared to be an address scrawled on it in his fancy, well-practiced, loopy signature.

"I know a nice young man, owns a house right around the corner. So, not far from here, right next to campus, and I happen to know that he's renting a room out for _dirt cheap._ "

Hermione eyed the piece of paper suspiciously, not entirely sure if she was convinced that it wasn't a trick. "How cheap is 'dirt cheap', exactly?" She was studying the scrap and trying to place the street name when Mr. Lockhart slid another one her way. This one was folded in half and she paused even longer before plucking it up and peeling it open to peek inside. When she saw the digits he'd printed on it, her mouth dropped.

"What? R-really?"

"Oh yes."

"Are you… You're _sure?_ It can't possibly be that cheap-"

"I have it on good authority that it is."

"I…wow. Thank you, Mister Lockhart…just… _wow._ I'll check it out right away!"

"No time like the present, Miss Granger."

"Wh-you mean _now_? I thought I was working my shift."

And Mr. Lockhart slapped the desk again with a boisterous laugh. "Miss Granger, you're _homeless_! I can't have a homeless barista!"

 _Blink._

"Are you intentionally being this insensitive or is this some sort of-" Hermione gestured at the still smiling man across from her. "-unnatural learning disorder that dulls you to the fact that it's kind of 'not okay' to make light of someone living out of their car?"

"Dear Hermione, there's absolutely nothing unnatural about it! It's _au naturale,_ as they say!"

She was pretty sure his teeth sparkled along with the twinkle in his vacant expression.

"Right. Well. I'll just be on my way then." Hermione managed to control her expression of utter bafflement as she went about removing herself from Lockhart's office.

She got as far as the door before he called out to her.

"Oh, Hermione! I forgot to tell you, be sure to ask for Thomas!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Still reading? Really? Okay! Remember, I warned you. . .


	3. Chapter 3

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 03**

"1926…1926…1926…"

Hermione was walking along the sidewalk of a neighborhood so posh, she couldn't recall seeing one like it since she lived at home. The lawns were all perfectly manicured, mailboxes were built into picturesque, hand lain brick posts with fancy iron numbers on the sides, and the actual houses, well, the houses were all _HUGE._

"…1926…AH! Ah ha!" She hurried over to the mailbox, checked her slip of paper, checked the numbers on the side, and did a little fist pump accompanied by a soft cheer – then she turned to look down the impressive driveway to the actual home and she was pretty sure her jaw unhinged. "No bloody way…"

Hermione peeked at the slip of paper with the hysterically small price for rent scribbled on it, shook her head and, against her better judgment, headed down the drive.

The house was large and tan and reminded her more of a villa or two she'd stayed in, once upon a time when she'd not been relegated to drooling on the vinyl seats of her Town Car on a routine, nightly basis. The driveway extended down and off to the side to, what appeared to be, an equally large multi-car garage. The home was at least two stories that she could tell from the front but with the funky way it sat on the hill it had been built upon, she wouldn't have been surprised if there was another level of fun in there somewhere – business in the front and party in the back and whatall.

A simple yet effective, iron fence lined the place's front yard, a little too high to jump over comfortably or, really, just without looking like a hoodlum, so she walked along its edge to find the gate all while gaping in awe at the fancy exterior. Her hand bumped along the iron bars as she moved and admired all the shiny windows facing towards the quiet, suburban road.

Mouth still dropped open at the impressive architecture, her hand caught on the gate, only to find it padlocked. Without missing a beat, she reached into her barely contained mass of curls that were still pulled back for work, and plucked a few of the massive pins taming her flyaways from their spots. She snapped two of them clean in half and bent the other at a funny angle then went about slipping her assortment of pieces into the keyhole, working them alongside one another until she heard a faint _click_ and the padlock fell open.

"That's _really_ lovely arch work…really lovely." Shoving the ex-pins into a pocket, she let herself in, shut the gate behind her, and refastened the lock. "Hand worked iron, too? _Huh._ Brilliant."

Hermione ambled the rest of the way up the too clean and pristine walkway to the front door. She took the few steps up carefully, her admiration moving on to the beautiful and meticulously cut privacy glass framing a giant oak door with decorative iron filigree to match the fencing she'd left behind. She allowed herself one last skeptical glance at the information her boss had passed over and knocked.

For several seconds there was no noise.

No rattling.

No running about.

No yelling behind the closed door.

 _Nothing._

Hermione rocked patiently on the balls of her feet, trying to peer casually through the glass, but mostly just fidgeting. She waited another minute or so before knocking again.

This time she heard the scrabbling of feet reminding her of the sound a dog makes when it takes too sharp a turn on hardwood floors and they were most _definitely_ drawing nearer.

It wasn't long after that she was able to see some blur of color zip past the warbled panes.

More of those scrabbling and now pounding noises for sure.

Another shot of color blinked by.

The absurdity of whatever was happening beyond the door in front of her started to bleed through to the outside world and she began wondering if anyone was actually going to come _TO_ the door.

And that was when a large, looming shape suddenly appeared on the other side, seeming as though they might actually be trying to hide behind the door itself.

Hermione put on her best, most pleasant smile and left her 'Hi, I'm a homeless person with a jar of assorted coinage and a ten spot, please take me in' look tightly closeted away and waited for the person to open up and greet her.

She waited.

She was _still_ waiting after another minute so she tried to peek inside once more.

"Hello?" she said cautiously, leaning forward, though as she did, that big shape scooted further behind the oak door in an attempt to clear her line of vision.

Hermione's brow furrowed.

"Um…hello?"

The shape scooted again at the sound of her voice.

"Erm. Sorry, I—"

The sound of scrabbling happened again and another shape whizzed by to join the other. There was a murmur of annoyed sounds as, she guessed, the two people – men, it sounded like – bickered in hushed voices.

Finally tired of all the nonsense, Hermione rolled her eyes and called out. "HEY! I can _see_ you! I _**know**_ you're there! If you could open up, I'd really appreciate it."

More shuffles.

"I really won't take up much of your time!"

Strained silence.

Swiping a hand down over her face, Hermione groaned and barely resisted slamming a fist on the door one more time and screaming about it. "I was told to ask for 'Thomas'. Is there one of those here? If not, I mean, I'll go, but—"

The door came partway open suddenly and a dark set of eyes peered around the corner fixing her with an obviously suspicious stare. "How did you get to the front door?"

Hermione wasn't sure what she was more surprised by: the fact that the person had finally opened up or that they were asking about _how_ she got there. She blinked and scratched a spot at the base of her neck awkwardly. "Gate was open."

The man, for it was obviously a man now, opened the door completely at that and straightened. He filled the open doorway with his mass and eyed her carefully, his gaze then wandered to the _clearly_ padlocked gate a little ways behind her. "No, it's not."

"It was." She shrugged. It wasn't a lie. It _had_ been open. The fact that _she_ opened it was irrelevant. How was she supposed to inquire about the room for rent if she couldn't get to the front door, anyway?

"What do you want with Tom?"

Hermione frowned and handed over the slips of paper which looked comically small in his beastly mitts. "Room for rent?"

His thick brows dipped in confusion. "Where did you—"

"Oh for _fuck's_ sake, Marc, you're not the Black Knight. Get out of the way and let the girl in already!"

The big man, Marc apparently, exhaled and all that scary, pressing authority withered into a kind of 'massive puppy' vibe instead; he stepped aside. Another man, this one similarly tall but lean and dark skinned, came into view. He was all smooth angles with coloring that reminded her of a cup of bold, rich French roast, brewed to the perfect degree, with just a dab of hazelnut cream—

" _Bloody coffee place is in my head!"_

"Pardon?"

Oh. Did she say that aloud? "Ah, nothing."

The slightly cream sweetened coffee man extended his hand to her and Hermione reached out to take it. "Blaise Zabini. Pleased to meet you, Miss..?"

"Granger," she said hastily. As an afterthought, Hermione pursed her lips in something resembling a smile. "Pleasure."

Blaise nodded. "How is it you came to hear about the room?" he asked even as he tugged the pieces of paper from the big brute still hovering.

"My boss actually."

"Lockhart again." Blaise commented while looking at the papers.

"Yes. How did you know?" It was a careful question, not sure if this was a good or bad thing. Knowing what little she knew of her boss, she was expecting more of the latter.

He turned the pieces around and pointed to a few spots on the street name. "There aren't that many people around with the knowledge that we're renting who dot their little i's with hearts and draw in these great big loopy things to the side of everything."

"Flourish."

"Sorry?"

"It's a…well it's an asymmetrical flourish. See, he took a flat nibbed—" Hermione paused at the quizzical look Blaise was sending her way. "Nevermind. I don't mean to be rude, Blaise, but is there a Thomas here or not? Mister Lockhart told me I should speak with him, so if he's not home or something—"

"No, no, he's here." Blaise nodded at Marc, who then scrambled off somewhere in a hurry, presumably to go fetch the man in question. "Here, come on in while we wait."

Hermione, who had still been hovering at the threshold, stiffened a little at the idea of waiting inside a place where there were at least two reasonably large, fit men – and supposedly at least one other – nesting with each other, without actually knowing what lay inside.

It could be nothing but a really, really nice house with an obscenely cheap room to rent, as advertised.

Alternatively, it all might simply be a deceptively nice foyer with actual hardwood flooring masking the horrific slaughterhouse that was undoubtedly contained within the bowels of the remarkably well furnished innards of the place.

Or maybe it was a sex dungeon and these guys were the managers. What do they even call them? Dungeoneers? That couldn't be right...

Perhaps she should have come with someone.

 _Yeah. With all of those friends I have out here._

Blaise chuckled at her hesitance. "Don't worry, I assure you, it's perfectly safe."

"I'm not worried about that," she lied, fixing Blaise with an easily confident gaze that wasn't at all a deer in headlights look.

Blaise smirked but noticed her hand hovering strangely at her side like she was readying herself to draw on him at any moment and his back stiffened as well.

 _What if this girl was insane?_

 _What if she'd actually come to kill them all?_

Maybe he shouldn't have sent Marcus off and left him all alone with her. "…good," Blaise said at last, exchanging a wide eyed look of caution with Hermione.

"Right."

"Great. Right this way, we'll wait in the living room." He saw her hand twitch at her side and he forced a smile and a nervous titter, resisting calling his friend back.

Hermione shuffled forward into the house, Blaise shuffling backwards, and the pair of them never took their huge eyed, poorly concealed looks of nervousness off one another as they moved inside together.

* * *

 **A/N:** I heavily debated changing the title a bit but eventually decided on _yes._ Aca-demic. Like A Cappella but I figured Aca-demic has a better chance of people pronouncing it correctly in their heads when they read it. Also, in case you don't follow me on tumblr and had no idea what that has to do with anything, this is totally an a cappella Tomione.


	4. Chapter 4

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 04**

Blaise sat stiffly on their big plush couch, still staring at the small girl staring back. She was trying not to fidget too much on the love seat while fixing him with a critical eye as well. Every time her hand twitched a little he just _knew_ that this was it.

She was going to stab him.

She was going to kill him.

And she was going to take all the fine China.

The silence between them was deafening.

Blaise hoped Marcus would be back soon.

As if on cue, the big man came tromping back into the living room, sitting down on the far end of the couch Blaise occupied with a heavy exhale. He draped his arm along the back of the sofa and stretched his legs out in front of him beneath the coffee table. "Tom's coming. He was in the shower so just give him a minute."

Blaise's shoulders visibly relaxed once Marcus had reappeared, though with the re-arrival of the man came a subsequent tensing of the girl's shoulder which, in turn, led him to tense again.

 _Maybe I should go put a blanket over the crystal cabinet,_ Blaise thought.

"So you said Lockhart's your boss?" The question came easily from Marcus and appeared to surprise both of the other wary looking individuals in the room.

"…yeah," Hermione replied slowly.

This fact amused him and he snorted. "Tough luck, that."

His odd sort of laugh did wonders in putting her at ease and Hermione finally relaxed a bit into the cushions – though not too much as it was sort of like sitting on super puffed marshmallows already and too much relaxing would see her nodding off.

 _Gods,_ she hadn't sat on anything so soft in what felt like _ages_.

"A bit," she agreed with a smile. "How do _you_ know him?"

Seeing the easy exchange between the pair, Blaise was bolstered, joining in finally, still keeping a watchful eye on the little Miss Granger in case she got feisty all of a sudden. "Gilderoy? He's actually Tom's uncle."

Hermione blanched at the possibilities of what this Thomas, or 'Tom' as they kept referring to him as, could possibly be like. " _Uncle?_ "

"Oh don't worry!" Blaise added hastily as if he had to provide this explanation more than once in his lifetime. "They're _nothing_ alike. Polar opposites in fact. Actually Tom is apparently sort of the…erm…black sheep in the family, so to say."

If possible, Hermione paled even more at the idea of a whole _family_ of Lockharts.

"Blaise, mate, I know you don't fancy the ladies but please don't go scaring them off, eh?"

A new voice joined the mix and Hermione jumped at its proximity. Her head snapped toward the new body and her brain took less than a handful of seconds to process the face she was looking at; she yelped in utter shock.

The new man frowned.

Blaise blinked.

Marcus guffawed. "Yeah, _that_ one is a sight, isn't he?"

The man in question glared at Marcus and turned his sights back on Hermione, extending a hand to her with a significantly gentler look. "Sorry, love. Didn't mean to startle you. The name's Abraxas."

She was still reeling from the fright but managed to blink and gasp away her surprise. The name helped her get her bearings because for a moment there he looked just like… "Hermione," she said and shook his hand, "Pleasure. A-and…sorry. About—" She swirled her hand between them. "—all that just then. You looked like someone I knew."

He smiled widely. "Oh? Someone handsome and charming?"

"Pale and pointy."

Abraxas' face fell.

A second ticked by before it brightened again.

"OH! Hey!" His smile was huge and pearly white, gray eyes alight with a sudden excitement as he pointed to her. "English!"

Hermione, in her startled moment, hadn't even noticed and her own mouth dropped in a similar way as the night before when she'd run into that prick in the shop. "Oh. Yeah! Well, look at that." She wondered if she had looked like as much of a tool as this bloke did with the way he was staring. "That's two for two for me—today and yesterday."

Abraxas slid down onto the cushions next to her looking innocently eager, like a child with a new toy. "Met another bloke from the mother country recently?" he asked and she blinked, but nodded. "Cor! Did you get his name? There's a woefully small number of us here for some reason or another. I've only run into Tom. And my cousin, but that arse is back up north."

Abraxas continued yammering and Hermione lost track of the conversation somewhere along the way.

One thing that stood out though was that this 'Tom' person was _English_.

"Wait—Abraxas, wait, wait, wait. Mister Lockhart isn't British. So how is Tom—"

"Oh, he was adopted," he chirped merrily.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and creased her brow. "I'm not…really sure that actually explains—"

"What the fuck are _YOU_ doing here?"

For the second time that evening, Hermione froze, but _this_ time she recognized the voice.

Hermione turned slowly, almost fearful of what she was about to see.

He came into her line of sight, sliver by sliver, as she found the longest, most drawn out way possible to see if it was really the same twat waffle from work.

Hermione saw his feet first, bare and only lightly tanned with the hem of some black jersey sweats brushing the tops of them. His trousers hung a bit loose and baggy – _comfortable_ – and the drawstring waist sat low on his hips. She was able to make out a very small sliver of skin between the top of his sweats and the bottom of the tightly fitting black sleeveless shirt that was doing its best job of being his second skin and trying to hug all along the hard, muscled lines of his chest and abdomen. With his arms exposed fully, Hermione recognized some of the tattoos she'd seen the night before. She visually traced their path, inspecting what she'd seen once and examining how they coiled and curled up the rest of the way, painting his biceps and shoulders with the rest of its inky story.

A well-used looking gray towel – _black also at one point_ _she suspected_ – draped around his neck and over his shoulders to catch the still running rivulets of water coming off his ruffled blue-black hair.

His appearance was all made much more indecent by the fact that, thanks to having just exited the shower, he was quite blatantly _glistening._

It was _him_.

It **_was_** the very same twat waffle.

" _Rickle?"_ Hermione asked in astonishment.

"Rickle?" Abraxas and Blaise repeated, one confused, one amused.

Marcus blinked questioningly, looking between the little coffee shop girl and Tom Riddle.

" _RIDDLE,_ " he corrected and his face went from mildly perturbed to a downright scowl. Tom tugged one end of his towel up and went back to drying his hair. "And I'll ask again, what the fuck are _you_ doing here?"

Hermione's pleasant mood dissipated in the face of this Grade-A git, and she opened her mouth to reply but was cut off.

" _Language_ , Tom," Blaise tutted.

"Oh, sod off," he snapped and turned to Abraxas, "What's she doing here?"

The pale man gaped, looked at Hermione, and shrugged. "I don't know! I just got here a minute before you!"

Tom narrowed his eyes disbelievingly. "Really. Why is it that I just don't seem to believe _that_?"

Abraxas shrugged. "Trust issues? I've no clue, mate."

Hermione watched the two exchanging words and tried to interject politely several times. "Hey—"

"Of all the strays to bring home—"

" _Stray!"_ Hermione squawked indignantly.

"I didn't! She was here when I got here!"

" _Hey, I'm sitting RIGHT here—"_

"—leave it to you to go and find the bitch that smells like coffee and blueberry scones—"

"LANGUAGE, Tom!"

"Belt up, Blaise-"

"What does that even _mean_? I'm afraid I don't speak 'Limey git,' Tom."

Marcus snorted a laugh. "Good one."

"Thanks, _'mate.'_ " Blaise grinned and the big man snickered.

Tom turned his scowl onto them. "I don't know which of you let her in but—"

 _ **CRASH!**_

No one really expected it.

No one really expected it because, _really_ , who _**would**_ have expected this tiny little thing to walk up to a man a whole head taller than her - looking like he'd come off the cover of a _"Ravage Me"_ magazine for their _"Best Brooding Bad Boy Abs of the Season"_ issue, at that – and _**slug**_ him, sending him crashing ass over tits into the nearest end table and its poncy looking lamp.

 **" _HOLY SHIT!_ "** Marcus exclaimed.

Abraxas shot off the love seat in shock, then gaped in awe.

Blaise screeched and scrambled off the couch, running out of the room – presumably to go hide the China.

Hermione's sudden burst of anger at his mouthing off in front of her dissolved and her eyes went wide, the whites of them clear now as she realized what she just did. Her hands came up to cover her mouth and she looked around the room at the men staring at her.

"Oh! Oh my God! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! Shite. Shite shite shite shite shite! I'm **_SO_** sorry! _Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-_ " She snatched up her bag with her jar of change rattling and bolted out the front door.

Abraxas stared after the girl, mouth still open catching flies.

Marcus was bouncing on the balls of his feet and flailing his hands at his sides, looking from the open door to Tom to Abraxas back to Tom and back to the door. "What do we do? _Whatdowedo? WHATDOWEDO?_ Do we call someone? The police! Do we call the police?"

Tom groaned from his spot on the floor, rolling onto his side and clutching his towel to his nose as he shakily sat up.

" _ **Wow.**_ Holy hell, mate." Abraxas finally snapped out of it and came to Tom's side, a hand on the man's back. "You alright?"

Tom growled something unintelligible and shrugged him off.

Abraxas snorted, held his hands up and stood again. "Right, well fuck you, then."

"Police?" Marcus asked again frantically.

"What do we tell them? A petite waif of a thing assaulted a household of four men after being called a bitch by this arsehole and then ran off apologizing for it?" asked the blond with a shrug, going over to close and lock the front door. "I'd say we should probably just...abstain from acknowledging that _that_ ever happened. Also, pretty sure she's not coming back."

" _You're sure?"_

Abraxas turned around to see Blaise standing in the hall that led from the living room to the kitchen, arm full of his crystal champagne flutes and wine glasses. He rolled his eyes. " _Yes._ Also, bugger this wanker," he snarked and motioned at Tom's angry, hunched form who had his bloody towel clamped over his nose and his head tilted back.

" _Language!"_

" _Bugger you, too!"_

Tom was left glaring hard at the door that the infuriating – _and abusive_ – coffee house girl had disappeared through.

 _Who the hell did she think she was?_

 _Coming into my bloody home._

 _Punching me in MY own house._

 _Fucking…BITCH._

His nose tingled at the memory of what set her off in the first place.

He glared harder at the door.

 _ **Really**_ , who did she think she was?

 _Hermy…_

 _Hermy-own…_

The fuck was her name?

 _Hermione?_

 _Hermione._

Tom peeled the towel away from his face and touched the tip of his nose, wincing.

"Bitch," he muttered again.

* * *

 **A/N:** This story is so ridiculous. This is my sorry-not sorry moment. All is fair in aca-love and romance.


	5. Chapter 5

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 05**

Hermione groaned from her spot on the curb. Her head was in her hands and it was well past sundown. The recycling plant behind her was doing its normal, strange smelling, processing thing, and she was trying to figure out how she was going to come up with money for fuel to go back home because, obviously, this dream of hers wasn't quite panning out the way she had hoped.

 _Maybe I could…I could call mum and dad—_ _ **NO.**_

She growled to herself and pushed off from the sidewalk again, shoving her hands in her pockets and kicking at some rocks and weeds that'd managed to grow in the cracks of the asphalt. "I'll just have to find some place else to live is all." Hermione went on muttering to herself and set out for another walk down the nearby roads, not quite ready for sleep just yet and maybe – if she looked hard enough – she could find some bottles and cans people had neglected to bin properly and take them in for some more change in the morning.

There were still a few days before she would officially be fired anyway. If nothing else, it would at least give her some time to concoct a new plan.

 **. . . . .**

Tom had been stewing _all_ day.

The stupid bitch hadn't managed to completely break his nose the night before, but she'd most definitely given him more than a simple 'shiner.' Tom had spent most of the evening with an ice pack on his face to combat the swelling but it almost felt as though it made his injury even more dramatic come the next day. His face was still sensitive and bruising quite nicely - and _vividly_ , at that – and put him in a rather dour mood. It didn't help that he had a show coming up that Friday and he was convinced that no amount of concealer was going to cover up the blue-black evidence all over the left side of his face.

She would pay.

That stupid, _insufferable_ girl, would pay.

He should have gone to the ER then sent her the damned bill.

Tom had flirted with the idea of pressing charges, considering he knew exactly where she worked and he had all the confidence that he could find her fairly easily, but he'd calmed himself down enough to simply start with a _discussion_ with her and see where things went from there.

He shoved open the coffee shop door with gusto, the little bell ringing angrily at being so thoroughly jostled. Tom scanned the inside for signs of his thuggish barista but frowned when all that greeted him was the too eager smile of that _other_ girl that always wanted to engage him in conversation about his major.

Her smile faltered at the sight of his face. "OH MY GOD! Tom, what happened?"

Tom staved off her attentions and kept her from coming out from around the counter with a dismissive wave. "Nothing of consequence Penny. Just you here tonight?"

Penny hesitated, not wanting to pull her eyes away from the sizable bruise that was half of his face and settled on a nervous nod. "Y-yeah. Well, it's a Wednesday. We usually don't get a lot of business on Wednesday nights for some reason."

"Might be that whole 'middle of the week and not actually wanting caffeine to keep me up obnoxiously late' thing."

Penny missed the sarcastic tone and giggled. "That may be! What brings you in tonight, Tom? You don't look like you've just come from a show, at least not _your_ usual kind of show." She paused and her cheeks pinked. There was a noticeably hopeful lilt to her next question. "Were you…looking for someone?"

His eye twitched and he habitually gave her a once over, something he'd done many a time to re-check himself and his opinion on her having any redeeming qualities. Sure, she was curvaceous and flirty and she had an entirely too healthy interest in all things Tom Riddle, but she was several cans short of a six-pack. After the time he'd made the mistake of trying to relax in the shop after class by reading one of his texts and she'd asked him who 'so-crayts' was, he had written her off forever - _Socrates_ wasn't even an **_obscure_** one!

Tom forced a smile. "Yes, actually." Penny perked up. "I was looking for—I think her name is Hermione?" And just as quickly, Penny's face fell; it was _delightful_.

"Hermione?" Penny said the name with obvious disgust. "She worked the AM shift today. What would you want with _her_?"

Apparently he wasn't the only one that had issues with the little thug.

"Tom? Tom! Hel- _lo,_ dear boy!"

 _FUCK._

Tom turned to Penny. "I thought you said it was just you."

"Well, yeah, I did! And Mister Lockhart, of course. But he doesn't really count."

"You _do_ understand that when there is another person here – even if it _is_ my uncle – that means you are not alone, right? I realize this may be confusing considering the person in question, but contrary to my most intense wishes, he _does_ still count."

Penny blinked at him.

Tom narrowed his eyes, unsure how he was resisting being drawn into the powerful, sucking black hole that was the girl's brain, but he had little time to ponder on it before his uncle's arm came to drape heavily around his shoulders.

"Tom! So good to see you! I always seem to miss you whenever you come in—"

"It's intentional…" he muttered, though Lockhart was oblivious.

"—did our lovely Miss Gra—TOM! Heavens boy, what happened to your face?"

Tom glowered. "I'd rather not discuss it if it's the same to you, Uncle Lockhart."

Lockhart tutted. "After all these years—I really wish you would call me Gilderoy."

"Yes and I'll not be doing that either. Listen, Uncle, were you or were you not the one that sent that frizzy maned beastly little thing to my house?"

"Ahhh, yes! Hermione!"

"…you knew exactly who I was speaking about by that description?"

Lockhart smiled brilliantly, teeth glittering in the fluorescent lighting of his shop. "Well she's the only 'frizzy maned beastly little thing' around _here_."

"I—no, nevermind. I'm looking for her, have you seen her recently?"

Gilderoy's smile faltered. "Didn't she ask you about the room?"

Tom snorted unkindly. "There's no way—"

"I _told_ her to ask for you! I knew if she dealt with anyone else in that silly little household of yours she wouldn't—"

"Uncle, I'm—"

Lockhart huffed in exasperation. "You'd think the girl would at least do _that_. She's brilliant Tom, she really is. If she can't get this settled by the week's end though, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do."

"—not going to—" Tom's resistance skidded to a halt and was swiftly replaced by curiosity. "Get what settled?"

"The _housing_ situation. If she doesn't fix that mess, I really can't keep her on staff."

Tom sighed with some irritation. "A little more information?"

Lockhart straightened and looked around suspiciously, eyes narrowing when he caught sight of Penny. He tightened his hold around Tom's shoulders and ushered him into his office down the hall, waiting until they were inside, out of earshot, and behind closed doors to continue. "She's homeless!"

" _Homeless?_ " Tom jerked back with a funny expression that clearly indicated he thought his uncle had completed his journey to 'mad.' "What in blazes are you on about?"

"Shhh-shh-shh! Not so loud!" Gilderoy jiggled the handle to his office door, testing the security of its lock. "I can't have a homeless person on staff! I'm _pretty_ sure it's not legal!"

"You're 'pretty' sure?" A headache was beginning behind his eyes and Tom was about 99% positive that it was in no small part due to the curly blond headed relative standing a few feet away. He massaged his temples, wincing when the movement tugged ever so slightly at the bruised portion of his face. "Uncle, how do you even know she's homeless? Shouldn't that have been something you knew, oh, I don't know, from the moment you hired her?"

Lockhart huffed and shrugged. "Background checks sometimes take a while, Tom."

"And generally are meant to be completed _before_ you bring someone onto payroll."

The man flapped a hand at his nephew. "Don't push your philosophy mumbo jumbo on me, Tom. You _know_ how I feel about all that drivel!"

He gaped. " _Fairly_ certain that's something also known as 'the LAW.'"

Lockhart snorted. "Po-tay-toe, po-tah-toe."

"I just—I _can't_ with you—" Tom stopped. He breathed. He grit his teeth a little more. He breathed again. "Uncle _Gilderoy_ …what exactly happens if she can't get into a home by the end of the week?"

"Oh, I fire her, of course."

He'd said it so merrily that Tom wasn't sure if he'd heard correctly. "Sorry, you said you fire her?"

"Well… _yeah._ " Lockhart sent a kind of 'duh' look to his nephew and chortled. "As I said, I'm pretty sure I can't have a homeless person on staff. That's why I sent her your way. She really is a brilliant girl, Tom. She memorized the entire frozen, blended, and espresso menus in under a week! I'd hate to lose her, but I just can't have any of that here in my reputable establishment."

That headache was nearly blinding.

"So. Okay, sorry, Uncle, please correct me if I've gotten lost along the way, but she's homeless, you fire her—what then?"

The man had been sporting his usual carefree and dazzling smile until that question and it turned into a vacant look similar to the one Penny always entertained. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Tom tilted his head back, looked at one of the flickering bulbs and counted to ten before focusing back on the curly haired shop owner. "What happens to Hermione after you fire her? If she's homeless and this is her only source of income…what happens then?"

Lockhart stared at Tom long and hard and one could almost hear the gears clicking through their positions until at last, "Oh. Ah!" He laughed. "Oh my dear boy, I have no idea! Who really cares at that point though?"

Tom had to inhale slowly and deeply before blowing the breath back out.

 _Fuck._

This didn't change a damn thing, except—

 _ **FUCK.**_

Swiping a hand over his face, Tom groaned, knowing this was a fucking stupid idea. "Uncle, do you know where I can find her?"

"Well, I haven't seen her today, but I think she's still staying around the recycling center. Somewhere in that area anyway."

Tom crinkled his nose at the thought and yelped at the sharp sting of the movement. He groaned and rubbed his injury carefully before muttering a 'thanks.'

"Not a problem, dear boy!"

Something in his uncle's so-cheery tone made all the hairs on the back of his neck prickle and Tom found he could only get as far as halfway past the threshold with his hand still lingering on the knob.

He certainly didn't care for the girl– she _had_ decked him very thoroughly after all – but it was the principle of the thing!

You didn't just knowingly send people out to fend for themselves like that in a city like this.

You didn't just _dump_ them somewhere with no regard for their future.

You didn't just…

… _leave them somewhere to rot in an orphanage for a decade before someone decided they wanted that scraggly looking hound in the window..._

 _Just –_ _ **FUCK.**_

"Uncle, please remind Hermione to update her employee records with you when you see her next. You know the address."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** This chapter offends my sensibilities. In the words of Chris Pratt, I pre-apologize.

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 06**

She groaned and stretched, all the joints in her body popping noisily with the movement. Hermione rubbed her back with a whimper, her spine getting a few more morbidly musical notes in with that. As she pushed open her car door, a different sort of noisy creak whining from the steel hinges, Hermione scooted out from the vinyl bench, tugging the rolled up yoga mat out with her to go about her daily stretches.

Hermione's groggy self began to wonder if a dumpster would actually be more comfortable to sleep in if she could handle the stench and all the possible... _no_ , _let's not even go there._

Going about her initial breathing exercises, it wasn't until she'd started to get into her downward dog position that she saw the envelope that'd fallen beneath her car. Hermione looked at the thing quizzically, looking around a minute before snatching it up and taking up a sitting position on her mat before opening it.

Her eyebrows rose when she read the gorgeous, calligraphic script:

 _ **Come to the house tonight after 5. The room's yours if you still want it. Use the side door this time.**_

Hermione read it again.

Then another time.

This was a trick.

It had to be a trick.

 _The room's yours…_

She wet her lips.

"S'gotta be a trick…"

 **. . . . .**

"Marc! Put your fucking glasses in the fucking dishwasher when you're done!"

" _Fuck you, Blaise!"_

"Language!"

" _You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?"_

 _KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK._

"I'm sorry, I can't actually hear you over all the shit that's coming out of that potty mouth of yours!" Blaise rolled his eyes at the next muffled curse sent his way from the other room and shut off the water from the kitchen sink to go answer the side door. He flipped the security latch, released the deadbolt, and turned the tiny nib on the doorknob so that he could tug the door open. "Hey, can I help-AHHHHHHHHH!" Blaise screamed bloody murder and set all the locks back into place in a hurry. "ABRAXAS! SHE'S BACK! YOU SAID SHE WOULDN'T BE BACK!"

"What?!"

"SHE'S BACK!"

Blaise's incessant screeching roused all the residents in the house and a series of thundering footfalls came down the stairs.

Marcus appeared from his downstairs room wielding a lacrosse stick, Abraxas tripped and nearly tumbled down the stairs with a fluorescent orange Nerf bat, and Tom followed closely on his heels, unarmed and wearing only a look of consternation at the explosion of insanity in his home.

Blaise was scrambling for the nice flatware again when Tom caught him by the shoulders. "Blaise! Who's back?"

He shrugged off Tom's hands and pointed at the splotchy bruise on his face. "The Granger girl! She's back! She's outside! She's come to finish you off! Tom, you should run—"

Tom let out an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes, shoving the man aside and tromping to the side door. He unlatched everything once more and pulled the door open. It was just as Blaise said, the petite woman was there and already half turned away, ready to leave once more.

"You're late," Tom said sourly. "I expected you after your shift."

Hermione paused before turning back to the scowling man in the doorway.

 _Of all the people in this house, HE left the note?_

She motioned to herself, the front of her apron drooping forward where it remained unfastened from her neck and only cinched at her waist, then the plain, yet somehow still so ugly, cap that was perched atop her head. "And so I'm here."

"You were supposed to be here after five."

"Yes. And it is still _after_ five, albeit _several_ hours after."

Tom gave her a once – then a twice – over. He felt like he should have been surprised at her stubborn and ungrateful attitude, but he just wasn't. At all. Would it have been so much to expect a 'thank you for keeping me from being homeless' from the girl?

 _Whatever._

Exhaling heavily and questioning his decision in this again, Tom stepped aside and motioned her in. "Penny said your shift ended at five."

Hermione grunted and sighed. "Do you have some preoccupation with the number _five_ or something?"

"I don't appreciate it when people are _late_. Especially when I'm trying to do them a favour."

"A favour? Is _that_ what all this is supposed to be?" She huffed and made to turn right back around. "Yeah, well, I don't need anyone's bloody _favours._ I've made it along well enough this far, I'm fairly certain I can make do without kissing your arse. God, you're such a prick."

Tom's arm barred her attempted path back out and he managed to only flinch a little when she turned a very tired, very irate gaze on him; his face tingled at the memory of her tiny fist crunching into cartilage.

"He is, isn't he?"

Hermione turned her head to see Abraxas tucking the bright orange bat beneath one of his arms and extending a hand out to her in an attempt to coax her away from the doorway. She looked back at Tom then to the blond again, reluctantly moving further in to his welcoming motion. "100% whole."

Abraxas paused and looked at her oddly. "Was that…a coffee house pun?"

Hermione blushed and the pale, pointy man who most definitely was nothing like her dick of an ex-boyfriend laughed.

"You sound like Pansy."

She blinked exhausted, tired eyes and the question came out before she could stop it. "Who the fuck is Pansy?"

"Hey!"

Hermione jumped and leaned into Abraxas' side when the man she remembered as Blaise appeared, waggling a stern finger at her.

"We don't pander to that sort of language around here, Granger!"

Marcus, who finally – warily – joined the group of them shoved his free hand in his pocket and shrugged. "Don't mind him. He's a hypocrite."

"Do you even know what that word means? Also, fuck you, Marc."

"See?" Marcus pointed.

Hermione squinted at them all in turn, very quickly feeling as though she wasn't operating on nearly enough sleep to deal with them _all_ right now. She was well and truly out of time, though... She blinked at Blaise. "Why are you holding a plate?"

Blaise huffed and tucked the dish closer to his side. "No reason."

"Alright, you lot, AWAY," Tom growled irritably, waving his hands to shoo them all as if they were a brood of hens and turned to Hermione. "Rent is due on the first, bank holiday or not. All the bills and utilities are in my name, so you'll just hand it to me—"

"Hold just a moment there," Hermione interrupted with a scowl. "I haven't even seen the room! And what even makes you think I'll just—just _take_ it! You all could be mad! This could be a murder house. A fucking _Hinterkaifeck!_ "

Tom rolled his eyes and went to the kitchen to fetch himself a drink. "Because otherwise tomorrow you'll be homeless _and_ jobless."

Her ears pinked and she sputtered in her embarrassment but none of the men looked confused – except Blaise. "Wh-who told you that?"

He took a pull from his bottle of Fresca – _a_ _fucking FRESCA_ – and answered blandly. "My uncle."

She let out an indignant squawk. "He told you _everything_?" Hermione swiped a hand over her face and growled. "That's PRIVATE! AUGH! I'm going to kill that man."

Blaise made a conspiratorial noise and Marc reached over to hit him lightly upside the head. " _Stop it_ ," he hissed. "She's got no other place to go!"

She groaned and shuffled far enough into their kitchen slash dining room to slump down into one of the chairs and drop her head in her hands. "And you told all of _them_ too?"

"Not me." Blaise scoffed. "If there's a vote, I'm still against it. I think you're a hoodlum."

Hermione snorted. "At least you're honest about it." _Ugh._ "Look, gentlemen-" She pushed back to her feet and shook her head. "-sorry to put you in this sort of position. Allow me to do us all a favor and I'll politely extract myself from your home and we can just pretend none of this ever happened." Hermione blinked over at Tom and the still purplish splotch on his face and couldn't resist another prod. "Well…might take YOU a bit longer to forget..."

Marcus frowned when moved to leave again. "But where will you go?"

She dismissed the big man's concern and his big puppy dog eyes with a casual shrug and a reassuring smile. "It's not a big deal, love. I've done it all before, it won't even be a thing to do it again. Don't lose sleep over it."

She clapped Marcus on the shoulder but barely got a foot toward the door before Tom was there, blocking her path again.

Hermione's eyebrows made a slow path up towards her hairline. " _Move_."

Tom moved with her again and said, " _No._ You can't just go out there and be homeless. That's idiotic and I won't simply stand by and spectate your idiocy."

Hermione puffed up immediately, the idea of someone telling her what to do flipping the most militant switch in her head. She took a step to Tom and his own brows went up at her combativeness. "And who exactly died and made you the big ' _Lord of Everything?'_ "

He scowled at her overly insulting use of air quotes.

 _God, she was like a Chihuahua. All tiny and feisty and barking at everything._

Tom eyed the frizz of her hair peeking out from beneath that godawful cap and the barely contained locks flaring out from below her hair band and amended his thought.

 _Maybe more like one of those miniature poodles._

"You can't be serious. You don't actually _want_ to be out of a home AND out of job!"

 _HUFF._

She didn't feel he got the point so she did it again.

 _ **HUFF!**_

"Maybe not, but I'll be buggered if I let a full size prat like you make any life altering decisions for me!"

Blaise edged up next to Abraxas to whisper in his ear. _"I think she's going to hit him again."_

Abraxas scratched his chin, watching the two glaring hard at each other, nearly chest to chest. He nodded and whispered back, _"What you want to wager that she blackens his other eye?"_ He motioned towards the kitchen island. _"And he cracks his head on the paper roll holder."_

" _I don't bet,"_ Blaise mumbled. And chewed on his lip. _"Though if I did, I'd say fifty on Tom this time."_

" _You're figuratively on."_

"Look, woman, don't be foolish—"

" _LOOK,_ _ **MAN**_ , don't call me foolish!"

"You're just being stupid and difficult for no reason!"

"And you're just stupid with your—your—stupid _face!_ "

Tom's plastic Fresca bottle crinkled a bit with the way he clenched it. "My stupid fa—the fuck, are you _five_?"

"Again with the number five!"

They were nearly nose to nose now and it was a lot like watching a train wreck. Abraxas, Marcus, and Blaise all blinked on at the strangest argument they – collectively – had ever seen.

If she hadn't been getting so thoroughly under his skin with her stubbornness of just trying to refuse his assistance, Tom would have been utterly astonished with the absurdity of what they were fighting about.

"Do you _want_ to be homeless, you barmy twat?" Tom snarled at her.

"No!" She growled back. "Of course not, ya' blinkered git!"

"And do you fancy being a jobless bint?"

"No, you mouthy wanker!"

"Then would you like the room here?!" Tom snapped harshly.

"Yes!" Hermione snapped back.

"Then it's yours!"

" _ **Fine!**_ May I see it, then?!"

"Of course you may!"

 _ **"Obliged!"**_

 _ **"** **Pleasure!"**_

Tom thrust his arm out towards the staircase, urging her in the direction of the room.

Hermione pivoted on her heel, thrust her nose into the air, and marched up the staircase at Tom's direction.

The boys were left at the bottom of the stairwell staring up after the pair and it was Abraxas who broke the silence.

"That did _not_ end at all how I thought it would."

Abraxas took several steps up until he could lean and eavesdrop on them but dropped back down after a moment of listening to their shouting match more clearly.

"What just happened?" Blaise asked.

Marcus took up his lacrosse stick again, fists clenching around the pole with obvious nervousness. He looked to Abraxas. "Was that a British thing?"

The blond shook his head. "No…that was…actually I'm not entirely sure what it _was,_ but definitely _**not**_ a British thing." He chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Well, except for how politely she just called him a 'sodding smeg' while gushing over the size of the bathroom. That was a _little_ British but mostly they're just both apparently insane."

"What's a smeg?" Asked Marcus.

Abraxas came down the stairs the rest of the way and patted the man on his shoulder. "I'll tell you when you're older, love."

* * *

 **A/N:** I post-apologize.


	7. Chapter 7

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 07**

 _It was a trick._

 _It was most certainly a TRICK._

These were the thoughts that kept circulating through Hermione's noggin as she allowed herself to walk alongside Tom Riddle in the tour of the house.

"I'm getting the _master_ bedroom and bath? That _can't_ be right."

Tom just shrugged from his spot against the door frame.

"This is a _trick_ ," she said.

"For the billionth bloody time, it's _not_ a trick." He rolled his eyes and joined her inside the spacious bedroom.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Did one of you clear out of it between yesterday and today? I don't want any of your bullshite special treatment—"

" _God,_ are you really this stubborn ALL the time or are you just being a pain in MY arse."

"Don't flatter yourself, you're not nearly so special," she muttered.

"Nobody cleared out for YOU. This room belonged to our other friend and his woman before they decided that they wanted their own private place to shag in peace without people like Zabini pounding on the wall about the sort of language they were using. We're all perfectly fine in our current rooms, so this is what you get."

" _His_ woman." Hermione scoffed. "Sexist pig."

"Oh, Christ, don't even start with _that_ now too. That's how _she_ referred to _herself_ so you can shove your self-righteous fight right back up your rear, alright? For the record, she's a much nicer bird than _you._ "

Hermione blinked over her shoulder. "Did that hurt?"

"What?"

"That compliment? Does it actually pain you to say nice things about people? I mean, backhanded as it was, it shouldn't have hurt _too_ much—"

"Perhaps I'll enlighten you when you advise me of how smashing it is to be as much of a bitch as _you_ are."

 _"I know you are, but what am I?"_ Hermione sneered and mocked him under her breath and went on to exploring the gigantic walk in closet that was nearly as deep as her Town Car was long. She must have breathed out something in her astonishment because he made a noise in the back of his throat that caused her to look at him.

"Large enough to meet your standards?"

She heard the snark in his question but at the moment she was overwhelmed at the fact that her _closet_ was going to be larger than the space she'd slept safely in during the entirety of the past year. "I'm sure it'll do for a size queen such as myself," Hermione retorted but there was a waver to it partway through. She scratched at a spot in front of her ear and coughed out the thickness to her voice, pushing past Tom to move back into the bedroom.

There was something in the air that shifted towards uncomfortable with her exit and Tom frowned, lingering at the threshold. He watched the girl, noting she very deliberately kept her back to him and her hand came up once or twice more to scratch at different spots on her cheek along with a few more suspicious clearings of her throat.

 _Was she..?_

"Come on, I'll show you the rest of the house." He said quickly and breezed past her, not bothering to see if she was going to follow. There were few things in the world that put him off his guard but a crying woman was certainly high on the list.

Hermione nodded, knowing he couldn't see, and took another minute to chase away any lingering moisture in her eyes. She took a few deep breaths and cleared her throat until she was sure she'd be able to speak again without her voice trembling and put on her best scowl to join him.

When she arrived in the hall once more, Tom was leaned against the wall a little ways down. The upper portion of the house was all bedrooms and bathrooms. Hermione took mental stock of the floorplan, noting that her bedroom and private bath would be the one on the far end, farthest from the staircase, Abraxas' was the next closest to it, and Tom's was on the opposite end of hers with a second upstairs bathroom placed somewhere between the boys' rooms. She didn't get to peek into either of their spaces, but by the stretch of wall on the inside and what she recalled from the exterior of the house, ALL of the rooms had to have been huge!

Tom rattled off some offhanded facts about the place that she only half-heartedly listened to while staring at everything in awe. Apparently, it was originally a family vacation home that he had inherited after his parents passed away and had renovated at some point. While she may not have been hanging on _every_ word he was saying, from the mild talk Tom had decided to participate in – after she got over the shock of the fact that he wasn't just insulting everything left and right – she gathered that he was decidedly well off. There were about a million questions, at _least_ , that she wanted to ask after hearing him prattle on about the house, but none of them were related to that at all.

She wanted to be nosy and ask about his parents, but that would have been a different sort of rude that – even to her – was less than acceptable.

She wanted to ask more about why he was so adamant about her taking the room, but she couldn't fathom _that_ going well at all either.

She wanted to ask him if he actually had to work for any of this now or if it was all just him coasting easy on his inheritance, but…that was probably even more inappropriate than the other questions combined.

Also, he was much easier to deal with when he _wasn't_ being a huge pile of shit and she was still shaky at best, so she opted for an easy, hopefully harmless question as he showed her around downstairs.

"Are you also a student?"

Tom glanced back over his shoulder then forward again as they walked and said, "Yes."

Hermione quirked a brow and followed him into a room that had been turned into a personal home library. Her eyes brightened and she felt her expression turning into something far too telling, she hoped she stifled it to a more neutral look in time. The room had ceiling to floor bookcases built into the walls, the shelves were filled end to end with a huge variety of texts in a full range of different subjects and Hermione's hands itched to trace the spines of them all.

She licked her lips eagerly and had to clench her hands to fists to keep from ravaging each and every gorgeous corner of the room. "May I ask what for?"

Tom eyed her with mild amusement. Her question was steady but with the way her pupils were blown wide and she'd all but forgotten that he even existed in the physical space next to her, he gathered that the woman had a thing for books. He shrugged. "Perhaps I'll tell you another day."

That seemed to snap her out of her daydream and Hermione fixed him with a curious look. "Is there a reason 'another day' is any better than 'today?'"

"It's late."

Her brow furrowed.

He rolled his eyes. "With talk of my major typically comes a great deal of…discussion and I'm not sure I have it in me this evening to go through it." When she continued staring at him in an oddly serious way that he didn't much care for, he cleared his throat. "At least not with _you._ My face is still quite purple from the other night and I'd hate to impede the healing process by brassing you off somehow and having you flail about until you've decked me again."

Hermione scoffed. "LIS."

It was his turn to appear confused. "What?"

She shrugged and carefully took a seat on the edge of the reading desk pushed up to the far wall beneath an ornate and delicate looking window. Hermione picked up one of the texts that was stacked on the end of it and ran her fingers over the embossed letters of this particular leather bound book.

"Library Science." Then as a bit more explanation, she added, "My major. If you want to talk about a major that brings forth a 'great deal of discussion' that one ranks pretty high."

Tom blinked at her. More so, he blinked and _watched_ so closely how she so reverently handled the book. "You want to be a _librarian_?" he asked and watched her shoulders tense reflexively, defensively.

Hermione tugged the book to her chest and turned one of her _looks_ up at him again.

Her jaw jutted out.

Her eyes were hard.

Her shoulders were hunched in on herself and she opened her mouth to speak-

"Philosophy."

She stopped and blinked back at him. He was watching her, as if waiting for her to scoff again or laugh or _something._ **Anything.** _  
_

When the girl said nothing, Tom shifted his weight from one foot to the other and asked, "Nothing? Not even an 'if a tree falls in the woods, does it still make a sound?' You really have _nothing_ to say about it?"

Hermione stared at him a long moment more and shook her head, placing the book carefully back atop the stack she'd retrieved it from. "Wise men speak because they have something to say; fools because they have to say something."

Tom snorted and flashed her a smirk, one untainted with his more prattish sentiment behind it. It had to have been the first genuine expression since their initial, unpleasant meeting. "And considering you spoke at all in an effort to quote Plato at me, which does that make you, the wise man or the fool attempting to impress?"

She shrugged and pushed off from the desk to exit the library. "Perhaps you should further consult your friends, Mister _Rickle_. I think I saw them last in sections 182 through 184."

It pulled a laugh out of him, too loud in that quiet space, and he followed her out.

* * *

 **A/N:** Slik may or may not have gone to school for LIS.


	8. Chapter 8

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 08**

" _Hermione!"_

"I got it, I got it!" Hermione waved at the cashier and bustled about fixing another round of fru-fru blended and frozen beverages for the large crowd that had deposited themselves into the coffee shop that night.

She had signed an agreement with Tom Riddle the night before – the act itself felt a bit like signing over her soul, but she'd decided not to think on it too long – and he was supposed to assist her with moving her car after her shift let out. As the chime on the door sounded again and the noise of the crowd grew more obnoxious, however, she somehow doubted he would be up for getting her moved so late at night.

Hermione sighed heavily to herself and set her head on not getting moved until the morning. At least she'd somehow wrangled the weekend off…

" _Cinnamon dolce latte, no whip."_

Her head came up at the sound of the order and mostly the sound of the _voice_. When she peeked over her shoulder to see Riddle looking sour faced and exhausted, hair ruffled and sticking up in all directions, sleeves rolled up to the elbows with his ink all out, and reaching for a wallet that apparently was attached to the end of a _chain_ she actually brightened.

"Rickle!"

Tom looked over at her, seemed mildly surprised for just a second, then grimaced.

Hermione laughed at the sight, shook her head, then pulled one of those fully biodegradable cups out for herself and called over her shoulder, "Penny don't hit that button. Mark one pound of these for me first, will you?"

" _NOW?"_

She rolled her eyes at the girl, "Yes, _now._ This pound right here-"

Penny stopped in the midst of ringing up a confused and irritated – _as if there were any other state_ – Tom to swivel around and give Hermione the sassiest hand on hip, tilted head, curled lip sort of sneer. "You can't do that."

"The heck I can't. Where in the manual does it say?" Hermione glanced at the other girl for just a second as she started grinding the beans of a new bag then added, "Put your money away, Tom."

Penny scoffed and Tom crinkled his brow, a crisp looking twenty in his hand at an awkward half-out-of-wallet stage.

"You _can't_ do that!"

"That so?" Hermione asked and was well through the first stages of Tom's beverage. "Where's it say? Tell me and I'll stop."

The girl made a disgruntled noise. "I don't know! But you _can't_ do that!"

She shrugged and hurried along finishing up creating Tom's beverage of choice and came to the counter where he still stood flashing his money. "Put it away, Tom. Here—"

Penny huffed and tried to bar Hermione from passing the drink over. "I am _not_ marking it out, Hermione."

"Fine then, this one's mine, so it's free."

Tom blinked and realized what was happening finally, his scowl lessening only a tad. "Hermione, that's really not—"

"Shut it, Rickle. Penny, this one's free."

Tom's scowl was back.

Penny grew one of her own. "You can't give away your drinks!"

"I'm not giving it away, it's mine. Tom's holding it for me until I get off."

"I don't think so!"

"Oh, but I do—"

Tom tried to massage the bridge of his nose then winced when he remembered it was still bruised. "Ladies," he growled.

"I said _shut it_ —Penny mark it or move, I don't care which, but you have 2 seconds to choose."

"Hermione, I'm not going to—"

"I'm perfectly capable of paying for a fucking cup of coffee, Granger—"

"What part of 'shut it' don't you understand, Tom? Also, it's the principle of the thing!"

"Woman, I just want my coffee."

" _Man,_ I am trying to be nice! Penny, mark it!"

"I won't!"

"Granger—"

"One second left."

"NO!"

" _ **Fine.**_ "

Hermione, ignoring Tom's protests and insistent waving of his twenty dollar bill, stepped up to Penny, _clearly_ invading the other girl's personal space. To her credit, though, Penny didn't move and just towered a bit over the frizzy haired barista.

Slowly and so deliberately, Hermione brought the cinnamon-coffee concoction up between them, locked stares with Penny and held the cup up inches away from her own lips. Without breaking eye contact, Hermione leaned forward and stuck out her tongue, touching the tip of it to the rim of the lid and _draaaaaaaaaagged_ it all along the edge suggestively.

Penny stiffened and there was a sudden whoop of catcalls from the waiting customers who had gone from irritated and impatient to either embarrassed or amused in the span of two fateful seconds.

Tom's eyes widened as Hermione flickered the tip of her tongue all around the top and somehow he was less shocked by her brazen behavior and much more surprised by the flash of the small steel barbell spearing her tongue and wiggling with every movement. When he noticed the clear acrylic ball sitting on the top of her tongue contrasting the steel one on the underside, he understood more as to why he'd missed that it was there in the first place.

After finishing her licking display, the drink's top shiny and wet and even dotted in a couple of places where she'd kissed it and gotten gloss on the lid, Hermione smiled broadly at Penny. "See? Mine."

With one last stubborn try, Penny growled, "You can't just lick things and claim them as your own!"

"Oh?" Hermione's eyebrows went up and she leaned in again, this time her tongue waggling towards Penny's cheek.

"UGH! CHRIST! FINE!" Penny shoved her away and cancelled the transaction. "Jesus, you're so gross."

Hermione snorted and moved back to her station to switch out the lids; Tom followed her over.

"You want a new cup too?"

He shook his head, glanced at Penny who was obviously trying not to glare in their direction as she rung up the next customer, and accepted the cup with its lick-free top. "I'm pretty sure that's sexual harassment."

Hermione shrugged. "Yeah, probably."

At her blasé reaction Tom felt simultaneously agitated and amused. "Can you do me a favour and _not_ deliberately get yourself fired after I've agreed to house your barmy self?"

She sighed dramatically and stomped a foot. "But it's so _difficult,"_ Hermione whined while washing and drying off her hands before starting another order. She gave him a bit of a conspiratorial look and whispered, "She's such a _bitch_."

That made him snort mid-sip. _She's punchy tonight_. "Have you _no_ impulse control?"

"I'm working on it. It's _'a process.'_ "

Tom just shook his head. "When are we moving your things?"

"Probably not until tomorrow."

"What? Why not?" He checked his pocket watch - because of course he had a _pocket watch -_ and grimaced. "It's quarter till, I thought you were out soon."

Hermione gave him a sideways glare at his refreshed 'tone'. "Have you _seen_ the line? I'm closing, it's Friday night, s'not really how that works. I'll be here until they decide to lock the bloody door." She peered around him to see that more people were headed towards the shop. "Which will likely _not_ be any time soon."

Tom straightened and gave her an immensely annoyed look when she shoved the next drink order past his arm onto the pickup station. "But you're supposed to be out at midnight."

She had to pause and stare at him a few seconds before she realized he was being completely serious. And then she laughed and went back to work. " _Wow_ , you're such a bleedin' trust fund kid."

Hermione had turned back to her task at hand and missed the flush of red to his cheeks as well as the gruffly muttered _'bitch'_ as he stormed out.

 **. . . . .**

 _Books._

 _Mountains of books!_

 _Forests of books!_

 _Books as far as the eye could see!_

 _More books than she could ever be able to read in a lifetime!_

Hermione hummed and smiled in her sleep, cuddling her squishy faced ginger cat while drooling on her back seat.

 _Floor to ceiling shelves, all of them stocked full with colorfully bound titles of every subject you could ever desire and then some!_

 _Everything was immaculate._

 _Everything was gorgeous._

 _Everything was—_

 _ **BEEP BEEP BEEEEEEEP!**_

Hermione screamed and slammed her head against the door, flailing and falling to the floorboards of her car as much as floorboards full of all of her belongings would allow.

" _BUGGER!"_ she growled. Her heart was pounding, her head was throbbing, and her eyes were darting around the cramped space, navigating with only the sliver of sunlight coming from between the sun visors that'd been knocked around in the commotion.

The honking came again, more insistent this time, and she growled while trying to dislodge herself from the tight space between her front and back seats.

By the time she worked her way out of the car, Tom was outside of his own, leaning against its side and munching on what appeared to be some kind of expensive looking croissant sandwich. "Morning."

His voice was more cheerful than it'd ever been when addressing her before and she shot him a grouchy glare. "Do you detest sleeves or something?" It was all she could muster in her foggy headed barely there wakefulness.

Tom spared a moment to look at himself, garbed once again in comfortable looking sweats and a snugly fitting shirt, sans sleeves. His shoulders moved in a dismissive shrug then he reached through his car window to retrieve something wrapped in foil and tossed it at her. Tom watched her flail about, spazzing and making strange chirping noises as she bounced the thing around in her attempts to catch it.

"I find my adult privileges allow me the opportunity to abstain from such restrictive clothing."

Hermione finally caught the foil wrapped object and took a moment to peer inside it before turning her gaze back up and subsequently narrowing it. "It's too early in the morning for _words_ , Rickle."

"Apologies. Here I thought you would jump at the idea of conversation with someone actually able to participate," Tom said mockingly with a roll of his eyes.

She was cradling her own still-warm sandwich in her hands when he'd sauntered over. "And when I first met you I thought you might not be an arsehole, but alas, reality is a harsh mistress."

He waved her sour mood away and in doing so made her grumpy morning face intensify. "Where are your things?"

Hermione stared at him.

She squinted.

She blinked.

She even sucked her teeth a little before finally, "Tom, is there actually a brain in that pretty little noggin of yours? What part of homeless don't you understand?"

Tom quirked an eyebrow.

Hermione scrubbed at her eyes, grunted, and jerked open the door to her car again, nearly nailing him in the side in the process.

"Watch it!"

" _Here_ are my things," she said and motioned inside with a mocking flourish.

Tom shared a glare with the girl for a minute before leaning to actually look inside her vehicle. His brow furrowed at the clutter of personal effects that he was able to scope out, all stacked in various corners of the inside of her Town Car.

"This is all of it?" he asked.

Hermione wasn't sure if her eyes could narrow further without shutting entirely.

" _Home. Less."_ She allowed a beat to pass with him looking into her car with thinly veiled shock and sighed with a hair of sympathy this time. She began a sleepy shuffle towards his adorably expensive Audi sedan and yawned, clapping him on the shoulder as she passed. "Go on and digest that a tad longer, I'm going to have a bit of a lie in on the leather. I only need your help to get to the filling station - the poor beast's been out for a while, you know. Come wake me when you're quite finished with—" She waved a hand in the general direction of his face stifling another yawn. "—all that pity nonsense you're trying to hide behind those dreadful faces you're making."

Tom looked back at her, mouth agape, and he watched her wriggle into his back seat and shut the door behind her.

He knew she was homeless he just never really _realized_...

 _It wasn't pity._

 _It WASN'T._

 _It was…_

 _It was…_

 _God-fucking-damn it all._


	9. Chapter 9

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 09**

It was Sunday morning when Tom shuffled downstairs to the kitchen, yawning and scratching at his head tiredly. He hadn't slept well the night before after helping their new resident fuel up her metal behemoth and move her few belongings into her room. It had only taken an hour at best to move all the bags and little boxes from her car into the huge master suite and something panged in his chest to see the handful of effects barely filling up a single corner of the room. Hermione seemed rather unperturbed by it on the surface, but she'd been the quietest he'd seen her that whole day and he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Tom was dragging his feet and scratching at his stomach, moving to grab a coffee mug to java himself up when he noticed Blaise sipping from a cup of his own, making faces as he stared out of the kitchen window shaking his head. He blinked curiously and asked, "What's with all that, then?"

Blaise glanced over his shoulder, spared Tom a little sneer and went back to staring outside. "This. _THIS._ It's atrocious."

Tom leaned over to have a look at whatever had Zabini all in a tizzy and nearly dropped the mug he'd found.

Hermione had taken her yoga mat outside and unfurled it onto the dewy grass and currently had her feet planted upon it, legs stretched long and lean with her round bum facing the window. Her back was extended down at an angle in an equally long line with her arms reaching out to the edge of the mat before her.

Tom swallowed loudly when she shifted the position to push up with her arms and level her back, then dip down so her elbows drew in on either side of her chest, followed by the pronounced squeezing of her ass cheeks as her legs stretched out beneath her and her knees and the tops of her feet touched the mat, her arms pushing up again while her back arched.

His mouth was very dry when he mumbled, "Yeah…bloody atrocious."

Blaise blinked over at him and rolled his eyes. "Oh keep it in your pants, Riddle. That Chaturanga was _all_ wrong!"

Tom tilted his head, watching her do it again while pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Clearly. It's very…immensely—" He pointed with the carafe when she was in the ass up position again. "—what's that one?"

" _ **WRONG**_ is what it is!" Blaise scoffed and tossed out the rest of his drink in the sink with a disgusted noise, exiting the kitchen with purpose.

Tom methodically fixed his coffee, shaking some cinnamon into it and pouring some fancy flavored creamer that just never quite cut it into the murky black, then stirred distractedly. He was bringing his mug to his lips, watching Hermione go in for another relaxing looking stretch when Blaise appeared in his line of vision, tromping out into the yard in just his pyjama pants and house shoes with a stern look on his face. She toppled over in fright and while he couldn't hear them, Tom saw the pair of them arguing animatedly about what he could only assume was her yoga form. Not long after that, Blaise's ass was now facing the kitchen window, mimicking the poses he'd seen Hermione do only moments before and his face pinched at the new sight. Tom pulled the cord on the blinds and excused himself to the living room to go view something much more palatable on the telly…like the cooking channel.

 **. . . . .**

It was strange being off work on a weekend. The whirlwind of activity in her life as of late should have left her exhausted from all the strange excitement, but on this quiet, mild, sunny Sunday, Hermione found herself dreadfully bored. She was already seven chapters ahead on her reading assignments on cataloguing systems and database management and she'd done all the translation in her language course she could stand at that point. She truly, _truly_ hated to admit it, but she was _bored!_

Her boredom may have been the reason she jumped so animatedly at the knock on her bedroom door. She scrambled to answer it and on the other side, found Abraxas and Marcus looking quite handsome together in the hallway.

"So, how do you like it?" Abraxas asked warmly and peered around her head. His face fell in a frown and Marcus asked before he could.

"Where is all your stuff?"

Hermione blushed and stepped aside, opening her bedroom door and waving the pair of them in. She felt suddenly all too exposed but shrugged her shoulders and played it off, motioning to the closet that she had put all of her things, including the blankets she'd been sleeping under while in her car.

Abraxas hesitated, trying a couple of times before he got the words out as gently as he could. "Are you…have you been sleeping in the closet?"

She coughed and scratched her head then shrugged again. "I uh…" Hermione fidgeted under the concerned looks of the two men. "It's just been a while since I've had a room. It's a little…"

"Overwhelming?"

"Yeah," she confirmed sheepishly.

Marcus was frowning hard at the makeshift bed she'd lain out for herself on the floor in the corner of her closet. "We should go shopping."

Hermione blinked up at the big man and his seemingly random statement. "What? I can't—"

He cut her off by taking her hand and starting to drag her out of the room. "You can't, we can. Abraxas is a _rich ponce!_ "

Abraxas brightened. "Very good, Marcus! We'll make a Brit out of you yet."

She laughed but was able to extract her hand from his big meaty paw. "No, I can't. Thank you, but I couldn't accept—"

"Oh hush, Hermione!" Abraxas piped up and slung an arm over her shoulder, coaxing her towards the door as well. "He's right, I'm _stinking_ rich."

"But—"

"Nope. Let's go."

"I don't—"

"We'll at least _look_."

"But I—"

"It's summer. You need a summer dress. Every girl needs a summer dress—"

"I really don't like dresses." Hermione dug in her heels and tried to resist being carted along by the two men.

Marcus scoffed and dropped the wrist he held and placed his hands on his hips. "Don't like—Hermione! You would look so cute in a flouncy A-line dress…something airy—chiffon! Oh, something with ruching! And cute little wedges, OH, Abraxas—WEDGES!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at them both, looking between the two. She pointed at them, one after the other. "Gay?"

Abraxas laughed and shook his head. "Oh, no! I'm straight as an arrow. And I'm rather fond of adorable women in adorable things." Hermione blushed and the blond rested a hand on Marcus' shoulder. "Marc's mum calls him 'well adjusted' because he likes the ladies and the men."

"I like to think of it as 'equal opportunity.'" Marcus grinned and shrugged, holding a hand out flat and wavered it back and forth. "I'm a little of column A, little of column B. Mostly column B though."

She chuckled but then pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Tom?"

"Also straight," Abraxas answered.

Hermione scratched her chin. "And Blaise, Abraxas I heard you right the one night he's—"

"Gay-"

" _Super_ gay-"

Both boys blurted in unison.

She mulled over all of this information for a few minutes longer and eventually straightened, nodded and grabbed her boots. "Alright then."

The trio exited her bedroom at last and Abraxas offered her his arm as he led them downstairs. "More comfortable now that you're not quite so…outnumbered?"

Hermione snorted. "Oh, no. That never bothered me a bit. Just nice to know what to expect, is all."

She was chattering with the other two men when they reached the living room and a new voice groused at them all.

"Honestly, do I live with a herd of wildebeests? You all should perhaps practice walking on the balls of your feet versus tromping around on your heels like children!"

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at the snarky Tom Riddle that was currently taking over the entirety of the house's living space. He had several stacks of books all piled up around him, one of which was propped on one thigh while he hunched over it with a notebook on the other, the television was on but muted and a portly woman was dropping huge bricks of butter into a large bowl, and he had what appeared to be one of his sleeveless shirts draped over a chair on the far end of the room.

She rolled her eyes, taking in the interesting mural shaded into his back before speaking, "First sleeves, now the whole top itself. I wonder if I can't just make an outfit of all the things he discards and save you blokes the cash."

Tom jumped at the sound of her, having forgotten about Hermione for the past few hours as he delved into his assignments what with how quiet she'd been since her arrival. He was sure she'd just continue locking herself in her room, so the appearance of the little woman with her arms woven around those of two of his roommates was a tad more than startling.

As casually as he could, he snatched up his shirt and tugged it on over his head, making himself mildly more presentable in the company of the second closest thing to a lady that existed in his home. "I see you've finally chosen to come out of hiding."

" _We're_ going shopping!" Abraxas beamed proudly and patted Hermione's hand where it rested on his bicep.

"Shopping?" Tom looked at the three of them critically first then gave the blond a pointed look. "That was quick. Not even two days and you're already going for it?"

Abraxas made an appalled noise. "I _happen_ to be shagging Pansy, thank you very much! I'm just helping our new roomie feel welcome! Something that _you_ evidently know nothing about."

Marcus leaned in towards Hermione's ear to whisper. _"Shagging is sex, right?"_ She leaned over and whispered back an affirmative _._ He straightened, nodded, and smiled, proud of himself.

Tom snorted. " _Non-exclusively_ shagging Pansy."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean that I can't be _nice—_ "

"Right. With zero ulterior motive."

"Gods, Tom, you _are_ a prick, you know that right?"

Hermione watched the two of them go back and forth a moment before she finally stepped in and waved at them both to stand down. "Alright you two, put your cocks away and allow me to say something, yes?" When they both stopped huffing and puffing at each other, she smiled brightly. "While I am flattered that the idea even popped into one of your heads that I _may_ be shagging material, let me put this out there: if anyone in this household comes at me with a penis that is unwarranted or unwanted, I'll cut it off and bludgeon you with it-" She turned to point at Marcus. "-that _does_ include the gay and bisexual ones as well. Understood?"

All the men around her blinked at her for several seconds as she just stood there, looking quite cheery about delivering such a clear and blunt message. When there was an eventual slow series of nods as acknowledgement, she chirped merrily, "Brilliant!" And she turned on her heel and escorted herself to the garage.

Marcus stared after her and scratched his head.

"So…..when would it be 'warranted?'"


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So begins the songfic-esque stuff. It only goes downhill from here, trust me. I expect to see some drop off after this as far as readers because it just gets worse...I mean, you think I'm joking, but really, only worse. For future reference, the chapters where there will be full/partial songs referenced, I will list them in an opening A/N so, if you're so inclined, you can queue up a little playlist for those parts. I like to play them via YouTube in the background...

 **Aca-Playlist:** S &M by Rihanna as performed by Overboard.

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 10**

Hermione had never been much of a "girl."

Of course she had breasts, a vagina, and all the genetic coding to deem her a female of the species, but she'd never considered herself a "girl's girl."

She didn't often wear makeup or fuss with her hair.

She rarely dressed up unless it was for a very special occasion, though if pressed, she would admit to feeling quite snazzy in a fancy dress _or_ a suit and tie.

Hermione, even before she was homeless and in her strangest of strange situations, just didn't _DO_ girl things.

It was a combination of these things, perhaps, that had not prepared her for how utterly _exhausting_ shopping could be.

The last time she had disposable income to spend on frivolous things like mall pretzels and squishy little plush things with fluff and beady eyes had been well over a year ago and even then, she'd been so invested in future career plans that she hadn't bothered.

Before their shopping trip, Hermione had been cycling between two pairs of work slacks, an embarrassing pair of non-skid plain black sneakers and mixed terrain hiking boots, and a handful of mostly darkly colored shirts that showed very little in the way of coffee and flavored syrup stains. It was best to not think about the seven pairs of knickers and sports bras to her name. When the truth about just how little in the way of functional clothing she had remaining came out, Abraxas nearly lost his head.

At the blond man's insistence and after a lot of fighting on the subject, Hermione allowed him to purchase a few things for her on the request that he would shut up about it all. He seemed satisfied with it, though he had then commented on her choosing sensible support for her lovelies versus some pleasant satiny brassiere and nearly ran into an _accidental_ castration.

That had settled it neatly enough.

Now, after the longest Sunday she'd had in a while, Hermione laid sprawled on her stomach on her thin fleecy blanket with some sort of memory foam pillow that Marcus insisted was his old one and not at all the one that he bought while they were out – he even went into his room, rustled around, and generally made a big production of changing pillowcases. The boys had convinced her to at least drag out her bedding into the center of the bedroom instead of sleeping in the closet again. Abraxas had mysteriously mentioned she should get used to it and part of her suspected there would be a surprise mattress delivery in a few days whether she liked it or not.

Sleeping in the large open space, however, just _might_ have been why she was still awake and having to stubbornly trying to will herself into unconsciousness after four hours of settling down for sleep. Her face was smooshed into her pillow, Crookshanks under one arm and the tiny plush otter the boys had gotten her under the other – he was holding a seashell and had scraggly little whiskers sticking up every which way from his fuzzy otter cheeks. Hermione had named him Mister Snuffles.

She blearily fumbled with the alarm clock Marcus had brought in for her and glared at the bright red LED display.

 _1:50_ … _ugh…_

Hermione shut her eyes, buried her face into the pillow again, and tried so very hard to get to sleep. Images of fuzzy otters, frolicking along a river bank and then eventually nodding off, floating on their backs in the water and holding hands as they slept so they didn't drift away put a sleepy smile on her face and she felt the edges of that blissful rest creeping in.

So nice…

 _So relaxing…_

 _So…_

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 ** _' ~ '_**

The thudding, thumping sound of what sounded like a synthesizer rattled the floor beneath her and Hermione's eyes shot back open.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

Having been pulled back from that brink, she was quite possibly more disoriented than if she'd been woken from a dead sleep.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Na na na na na Come on**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **Come on Come on**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

The steady pounding beat only seemed to get louder, more insistent as percussion was added into the mix and the unmistakable lyrics of a song sounded out from somewhere below her.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Na na na na Come on**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

When it became clear that the music was not going to stop, Hermione snarled and struggled to push herself to her feet. She stumbled around her room, shuffling over to the closet to pick up one of the shirts she'd discarded in a pile and tugged it over her head following that by snatching up a pair of panties to put on so she could go bust some heads in somewhat acceptable attire.

"What-the-fucking- _HELL,"_ she snarled.

 _ **. ~ .  
**_

 _ **Na na na na na Come on**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **Come on Come on**_

 _ **Na na na na**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

Hermione opened the door and squinted against the light in the hallway that had yet to be turned off. She was scrubbing at her eyes from the sudden shock of brightness as she felt along the wall and tripped over her own feet towards the stairwell. That insistent throb of sound with all their suggestive and sexy lyrics wafted through the house from a corner of the bottom level.

 _ **. ~ .  
Feels so good being bad**_

 _ **There's no way I'm turning back**_

 _ **Now the pain is my pleasure**_

 _ **Cause nothing could measure**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

After nearly tumbling ass over head at least twice on the short trek downstairs, Hermione glared in the direction of the noise. It was coming from one of the rooms that Tom had refused to show her, one that had a suspicious custom made plaque hanging on the wall next to it that simply read 'The Chamber.' She'd asked him only half-jokingly if it was a sex dungeon, to which he replied 'no' but didn't elaborate on what it _was_ , only that she wasn't allowed in there – ESPECIALLY when the red light on the wall was lit up.

"Not a sex dungeon," Hermione growled in confirmation to herself, "but about to be a tomb…"

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Love is great, love is fine**_

 _ **Out the box, out of line**_

 _ **The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

Hermione arrived in the hall leading to The Chamber, glaring so hard she was sure she'd soon set it aflame with her stare. She saw the light by the doorframe all lit up but also a bright light flooding into the hall from where the door appeared to be ajar. Her eyes narrowed to slits and her hands clenched at her sides.

Hermione was not a woman known for her patience.

Hermione was also not known as a woman who was particularly kind in the morning, especially when she was bordering on seeing 'morning' from the wrong side of the day.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it**_

 _ **Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it**_

 _ **Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me.**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

Her seething, fuming, disoriented brain was driving her feet forward with no regard to the light or what she _was_ or _wasn't_ supposed to do with this stupid room.

Her hand clamped over the knob of the partially opened door and thrust it open the rest of the way, mouth open and ready to rail into whoever it was that was making all the ruckus at ungodly hours of the day.

The sight that greeted her stilled her angry words in her throat.

Five men, four were definitely her roommates, one of them she wasn't sure about, though he had longish, wavy black hair and appeared to be…beatboxing into a microphone?

They hadn't noticed her yet, so it gave her another moment to try and fit the pictures together in her sleep deprived head.

The unknown man continued doing funny things with his mouth, the sounds coming out as a rhythmic vibration of noise that reminded her for certain of some sort of instrument…cymbals? Maybe a hi-hat, more specifically? Blaise also was apparently cupping a mic and took up a similar task, thumping out a bassline...with his _mouth._ Abraxas and Marcus were poised near a mic stand and clapping to the sultry beat. And that only left…

Tom had his eyes shut and was the only one of them really facing the doorway, his microphone several inches from his mouth as those smooth, mellow words poured from his throat.

 **" _Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it…_ "**

Hermione's eyes caught on the sensual line that his hand traced down his bared chest and stomach.

 **"** _ **Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it!"** _

His lip curled a little in a grin with the deviant lyrics rolling off his tongue and she got a glimpse of those perfectly straight teeth of his he'd only flashed at her in sneers before.

 **" _Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me!"_**

Hermione watched the path his fingers took as they trailed over the sculpted muscles of his body, playing at the edge of the waistband before running just _this_ side of lewdly over the bit of bulge at his crotch.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Na na na na Come on Come on Come on**_

 _ **I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on**_

 _ **I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on**_

 _ **I like it Like it Come on Come on Come on**_

 _ **I like it Like it**_

 _ **' ~ '**_

The sound of the vocal percussion picked back up and the harmonious voices of Abraxas and Marcus – the latter had a _much_ higher singing voice than she would've pegged the large man for if asked, by the by – took up rather lovely background notes.

Their sound was so shockingly _good_ that a part of her could do nothing but stand there, propped heavily against the doorjamb with her mouth hanging open.

As a result, her mouth dried as she watched them, all in their own little world...

Singing...

Dancing...

Causing her skin to prickle and break out into chill bumps from the sexy serenade that she never would have imagined could come from _this_ lot.

Marcus' sweet voice picked up their next solo with a sexy smoothness that sent a shiver through her at the sound of it. **_"Love is great, love is fine, out the box, out of line…"_**

Was it necessary for half of them to be shirtless and dancing about in a rec room? She was very nearly waiting for a bucket of oil to fall from the heavens above and douse them all so they had to roll around and wrassle about in stunned confusion.

 **" _The affliction of the feeling leaves me wanting more!"_**

Hermione was having herself an inspection of her least favorite vocalist, her eyes locked onto the pelvic dimples she could see so clearly just above his dangerously low sitting pyjama bottoms.

 **" _Cause I may be bad, but I'm perfectly good at it!"_** Tom had taken the solo once more.

Well…he may have been a prat, but he _did_ have a very, very nice... _voice._

It was quite melodic... when he wasn't using it to snark at her, anyway.

 **" _Sex in the air, I don't care, I love the smell of it!"_**

Her eyes finally released their focus on his pelvis and the way it was rolling sinuously with the notes of the song. Hermione's exploratory gaze started on its own path back up, noting that where his arms and back were full of ink and interesting images, his front was quite barren of these things. She got sidetracked on the very sparse, barely there trail of hair that made a neat line from his waistband to his naval and tilted her head at an angle then continued the inspection, tracking them up through the impressive valley of his abdominal muscles.

They looked very soft, those little hairs. They were such a contrast to the rigid personality he seemed to have – especially with being a _philosophy_ major of all things.

Was it necessary to for him to have that many segments of muscles, though?

Like _really_ , was it? There were, what? Eight?

It was excessive.

Those and all those little hills of finer muscles that accentuated the slight bulk around his ribs...

Hermione took to counting them, gaze continuing upwards on its happy jaunt towards his face – making a pit stop to appreciate the bare expanse of chest and how solid each pectoral muscle looked from that distance. Both were topped with a dusky nipple and she-

Her head tilted the other way.

-appreciated the symmetry.

Tom Riddle was very symmetrical.

 **" _Sticks and stones may break my bones but chains and whips excite me—"_**

Extremely symmetrical.

All the way up to the eyes—

-that were open.

And staring.

At her.

Standing in the doorway.

Staring at _him_.

Hermione felt her face heat up as the accompanying vocals and funky lip percussion thing the one bloke was doing petered out and sputtered off awkwardly. She resisted shrinking under the hard stare of Tom Riddle, having been oh-so-blatantly caught in the act of giving him a **_good_** once over.

It was difficult, but she managed to stand her ground.

There was a stretch of strained silence as Hermione stood there, half propped against the doorframe in her recently fuzzy headed, disoriented state clad only in a threadbare t-shirt and some knickers. She was about to speak in order to…to apologize or something…for she was _quite_ sure she wasn't really supposed to have seen all of this, but he had to open his own asshole mouth before she got the chance. Perhaps it was for the best.

"Which part about _not_ coming in here _ever_ but _ESPECIALLY_ when the light was on, was not clear?"

She blinked and, at the sound of that lovely voice of his all hard and _superior_ once again, she remembered her earlier mission. In an instant, her eyes narrowed to slits.

Hermione ignored his inflammatory question and instead grit out, "It is… _two_ …a…m."

For some reason, that was the last thing he expected to come out of Hermione's mouth and so the reflexive _"what?"_ was baffled and came out before he could process that that particular response was probably not his best course of action.

She latched onto her rage at being jostled from her near sleep, successfully shoving her moment of embarrassment far, _FAR_ back into the recesses of her mind. "TWO, Tom. It is _TWO_ in the bloody morning and while I've gathered the lot of you, and probably _this_ tosser—" She waved a hand at the unnamed man.

He waved. "Regulus."

 _Oh, he sounded as if he might be English as well. That was nice._ She waved back and gave him a tight, cordial smile. "Hermione."

"Pleasure."

"Likewise." And then she continued, voice coarse and angry with a foul look to accompany it once more, "-have made a career of being college students, _**I**_ have work in THREE HOURS!"

Regulus seemed almost amusingly unfazed by her sudden and bossy appearance. The group, however, exchanged startled and confused looks between each other though it was Tom that asked, "You're… _not_ going to ask why we're down here singing?"

Hermione made a strangled noise through her teeth and her hair practically frizzed with irritation. "Oh _honestly_ , I've been homeless for a damned year, slept under my share of bridges all along the California coast, and currently work in a bleedin' coffee shop for the most unpleasantly timed shifts possible. I have seen _much_ stranger things than this, Tom Riddle. Perhaps, if anything, I should ask why five men are down here in a room labeled 'The Chamber,' singing about S &M instead of participating in it!"

"I'd be game!" Blaise chirped happily.

Offended out of principle due to his perkiness at that hour, Hermione turned a stern, waggling finger onto the dark skinned man. "You know what, Blaise? It is FAR too late-early in the day for you!"

Blaise scoffed and retorted snottily, "Sorry Hermione, I can't _hear_ you over the sound of those headlights you're flashing at us." He punctuated his comment by poking out each of his index fingers over his chest.

Hermione looked down to see her nipples perked and all too noticeable through her tattered and worn shirt; she didn't bother covering up and set a heated glare back his way.

"You don't _hear_ light, you snarky twat, but allow me to turn myself up for you anyway!" She growled and flicked up two pairs of fingers in a most heinous gesture. "Oh wait, sorry, I've got something more your speed right here—" Hermione switched them out for two middle fingers and made a bit of a rocket launching noise as she brought them up to eye level. When she spoke again, she raised her voice mockingly, "There! Can you hear me now?"

Blaise gaped while Regulus outright _guffawed_ , snickers from the others, minus Tom who was still trying to wrap his head around this so very strange girl he'd inherited, floated around amongst them.

"Do me a favour, gents," Hermione said only slightly more calm now, "call it a night?" She swiped both of her hands over her face and then ran them back over her hair, the motion lifting her shirt enough to show off a stripy pair of panties with two of the tiniest buttons in existence sewn to the front for no apparent reason other than to be adorable.

Abraxas clapped his hands together excitedly. "Oh, they fit! Those look great on you, Hermione! I told you they would!"

She managed a wan smile for the blond. "Thanks, love. Now _can it_ , will you?" And with that, she turned on her heel – giving them all a perfect view of her stripy posterior as well – and tromped upstairs with a huff.

Blaise was still blinking at the space that Hermione had been occupying and not a one of them really seemed to know what to do. The silence was thick in the air again until at last he laughed, loud and boisterous, and the tension seemed to dissolve. "I think I like her after all."

His laughs faded into amused chuckles and they murmured amongst themselves about their practice having run much longer than they'd anticipated or realized. Not a one of them really spoke much beyond that as they worked to pack up their gear.

All except Tom had began bustling around and he'd been making sure he had it very clearly understood in his head before he finally turned to Abraxas and smacked him upside the head.

"OW! _What?!_ "

Tom hissed, "You bought our new roommate _**knickers**_?"

"And an otter! Mister Snuffles! They're completely innocent— _ **OW!**_ _"_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I dedicate this Blaise chapter to Colubrina. E-heart.

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 11**

When Blaise made his way into the kitchen after his early Bowflex workout it was only 4:30 in the morning but his rapscallion of a roommate was already there, fixing herself a cup of something in a dandy looking travel mug with a _"Lockhart's Java House"_ logo printed on its side.

"Don't you get enough of that at your job?"

Hermione jumped with a startled screech, not having expected anyone to be up and about that early. She spilled some creamer on her shirt and made a disgruntled noise in the back of her throat, ripping it off immediately and rushing to the sink to blot at it. "Fucking dammit, Blaise! Make some noise or something before you sneak up on people. Fuck. What are you? A fucking cat?"

"Of all the names I've been called, not sure I've been called _that_ before. And _language._ " He scoffed and upon entering the kitchen, he got a glance at some small images inked onto her skin, sitting beneath her bra straps. Blaise couldn't be sure, but one looked like some sort of faded crest and the other a stylized set of music notes on a staff. Padding to the counter next to her clad only in his gym sweats and a tee with a couple of small hand towels draped over his shoulder, he peered around her to look at what sort of mess she'd been making.

"What do you want?" she groused and glared when he neared. She was clearly irate at simply existing in a conscious state at that hour of the day.

"Coffee or tea?" he asked and pointed to her cup.

"Tea, of course. It's a special blend made from dark roast coffee beans." She hissed out a _"tosser"_ under her breath.

He rolled his eyes. "You're a bit of a bitch, aren't you?"

She scoffed. "I'd say 'a bit' is a dreadful underestimate if we're being frank."

Blaise chuckled and pulled a mug down from a nearby cabinet. "It's settled, I _do_ like you."

"I thought you said I was a hoodlum." Hermione quirked a brow and watched him sift through a ceramic jar for some white and green sweetener packets.

"That doesn't mean I can't like you."

She gave a tired chuckle and shook her head. Hermione dabbed her shirt with a fresh towel to dry the creamer spot, groaning when she got a whiff of the sugary poncy shit that Tom used, making a mental note to bring something that wasn't so godawful home from work now that she had access to a fridge. Folding her arms over the edge of the sink and leaning over, resting her head on her forearms, she whined, "Why does four am even _exist_ , Blaise? More importantly, why do people feel the need to go elsewhere for coffee at such an hour?"

Blaise picked up the metal carafe and swirled it around a little, estimating there was at least a cup, maybe two, left in it and poured himself his own drink. "Just to spite you, I'm sure."

Hermione cracked her lids and glared up at him from where she leaned, watching him empty his packets of powder into his beverage - deliberately foregoing the super sweet creamer - and waited until after he'd taken a sip to say, "That has sugar in it, you know?"

The dark man sputtered, coffee splattering onto what bare skin of hers was exposed but the appalled look on his face was worth it. Remembering himself in that moment, Blaise scrunched his nose and pursed his lips, picking up the torn packets of his sweetener.

"It doesn't! It's all natural, it's got—"

Hermione snatched one of his hand towels from his shoulder, wiped his spittle from her person, then reached past him into the cabinet where she'd discovered the box of the packets the other morning to hand it to him. "Natural sweeteners and a miscellany of additives." She pointed to the nutritional label and traced her finger over the short ingredient list, landing on one of them. "Not sure what you're attending classes for, love, but _that_ right there is sugar."

The noise that escaped his mouth was a high pitched and strained sound resembling someone stepping on a dog toy.

Hermione patted him on the shoulder, tugged her shirt back on, and snatched up her hat and travel mug from the counter before making to leave. "Don't quit your day job, keep looking pretty, and have a good day, darling."

 **. . . . .**

"MARCUS!"

" _WHAT?"_

"DISHES IN THE FUCKING DISHWASHER!"

" _SCREW YOU!"_

Blaise stomped to the edge of the kitchen to yell down the hall, raising his voice even more at the telltale sound of some sort of obnoxious explosions and gunfire coming from Marcus' room as he played one of those stupid war games on his computer. "ONE! You wish! And TWO! WATCH YOUR FUCKING LANGUAGE!"

In a huff, Blaise returned to his spot at the sink – stomping all the way _back_ as well – and resumed clearing out the sink with his lips curled in a sneer. He'd fallen into his usual rhythm of fussing to himself at the slobs he lived with and being a bit neurotic about stopping every few minutes to make sure nothing had gotten under his fingernails because _fuck_ , he hated it when shit got beneath his fingernails, and neglected to hear the side door open and shut.

The movement of the refrigerator door opening is what finally got his attention and he screamed.

" _AHHHHHH!"_

And Hermione screamed as well. "AHHHHH!" Clutching at her heart when it became obvious that he was just surprised, she ripped the dish scrubbing wand from his hands and started smacking him with it. "BLEEDIN' FUCKS! JESUS! STOP doing that whenever you see me!"

Dodging the smacks from the sudsy brush, Blaise calmed his own breathing and snatched the thing back, putting it back in its spot near the faucet and turning off the water. "NOW who's a fucking cat?!" He snapped at her, eyes still huge and also accusatory.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. " _Language,_ " she mocked.

Both of Blaise's eyebrows raised at the funny little piercing and he teasingly waggled a finger at her. "That's _my_ thing."

She snorted and went back to pulling a few cartons of milk from her bag and depositing them into the fridge. "What? Are you the soddin' hall monitor too?"

He was watching her and counted a total of four cartons of milk of varying fat percentages and then observed as she took out some small interesting looking stainless steel pitchers next. "Are those from your job?"

Hermione sent a casual look over her shoulder at him, shrugged, then went back to what she was doing. "I could see how you would think that. We _do_ have ones like this at work, after all."

Blaise narrowed his eyes and followed her around the kitchen as she tried to store the things from her bag in cabinets. He went behind her and extracted them all from the places she'd found, replacing them in more appropriate spots that _clearly_ made more sense than where she was trying to put them.

"So you _didn't_ steal these?" He asked holding what was most _definitely_ a stack of tiny, clear espresso cups in one hand.

"Do you blokes always practice so late at night?"

"Well…no, usually we—HEY!" Blaise tromped around until he was in her line of vision again as she bustled around the kitchen putting more things away. "You're avoiding the question!"

"What question?"

"GRANGER!"

"Shhhhshhshh!" Hermione hissed at him and snatched the espresso cups away, putting them in a cabinet, scowling when Blaise plucked them back out to put into a _different_ cabinet muttering _'cups are NOT mugs'._ She rolled her eyes. "So I _may_ have nicked them-"

" _Nicked_ -what is nicked?"

"Forcibly relocated."

"So you _stole_ these."

"'Stole' is such a _harsh_ word…"

"HERMIONE!"

"OKAY! Goodness, don't get your knickers in a twist. It's like I'm the only barista they ever have working anyway. I highly doubt anyone will miss them—"

" _Really_ not the point!"

"I do all the daily inventories, nobody will know-"

"My god, stop talking! Just stop talking!" Blaise covered his ears. "I'm an accessory to a crime! I'm a witness! I'M a criminal just by not turning you in!"

Hermione paused in emptying her bag, walking back over to the dining table where she'd placed an all too fancy looking 100% biodegradable multi-cup holder and wiggled one of the cold blended drinks she brought home from its clutches. Her shoes made unflattering squeaking and sticking noises on the tile, but Blaise was still too busy muttering about criminals to notice.

She peeled his hands from his ears. "Here. This one's for you."

Calming for a moment, he took the drink in both hands and eyed it warily. "What's this? These fancy things are Tom's deal, not mine. I don't—"

"Oh shut up and say thank you. Also, I made it, so I can assure you it is the lowest calorie item on the menu. I made sure. And it will still taste much, much better than that tripe you call coffee otherwise."

Hermione watched him as he brought the drink to eye level as if he could inspect each individual ingredient simply by staring hard at the murky liquid.

"Unless you're afraid of my girl criminal cooties, I suppose." She sighed heavily and made to grab it back but he snatched it away from her reach merely by holding it over his head.

"I'm not a _child_. I don't think you have cooties, Granger, though I'm still debating the criminal portion of that sentiment."

"Why Blaise," she cooed, "that's the sweetest thing anyone's said to me in a long time. BFFs?"

Blaise laughed lightly and nudged her away, bringing the drink back down and popping off the top so he could have a sip. When he visibly brightened, Hermione grinned and moved to put the rest of the drinks in the fridge.

"I got bored and made some new concoctions for the rest of the boys, if you see them, let them know, will you? Their names are on the cups."

At that, Blaise's brow furrowed. "I thought you worked this morning."

Hermione paused at the edge of the kitchen and the living room, leaning against the dividing wall to give him a sleepy smirk. "I did. And I worked this evening. Funny how that _'working'_ thing, well, _works_ , innit?"

He frowned. "All day?"

"No. Morning shift, then classes—" She yawned, eyes watering, and arms coming up in a good, long, languid stretch that pulled a satisfying noise from her throat. "—then evening shift."

"And you do this often?"

Hermione was dozing off even in the midst of their conversation now that she'd stopped moving around.

Blaise blinked.

She'd started to snore and began slipping down the wall a bit.

"…Hermione?"

She jolted awake again, eyes wide and alternating between blinking rapidly and darting around. "Huh? Oh…uh, yeah. Often enough I s'pose."

He chuckled and padded over to her, scooting her off the wall and gently pushing her towards the stairs. "Jesus woman. Go the fuck to sleep."

Hermione nodded at the suggestion and had another nice stretch on her way up the stairs. " _Language_ —" She said in a singsong voice.

Blaise just shook his head and smirked after her. "Crazy bitch."


	12. Chapter 12

**Aca-Playlist:** Broken Wings by Mr. Mister (Just a snippet.)

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 12**

By the time Hermione shuffled up to the house after a long day of classes and another two part AM-PM shift, she was barely keeping her eyes open. Her LIS professor had assigned the class to take a stance on the Dewey Decimal System - fine as it is or needs re-categorization? - and write a short persuasive essay due in two days supporting their opinion. She wondered if this particular professor actually had a legitimate agenda housed in the little binder she walked around with in hand in the lecture hall or if they were merely doodles because some of these assignments were positively bonkers. A part of Hermione hoped that it was merely a mission to weed out the non-serious participants of the program so that only the strong, _true_ librarians would survive. She would be discovering mummies and saving the world any day now…clearly.

She was tossing around these ridiculous thoughts in her head, so exhausted and moving on auto-pilot as she raised her keys to the door that she nearly missed the large delivery truck that'd been parked in the drive. Hand halfway to the knob, she blinked quizzically at it and heard it start back up at the same time that the distinctive sound of the garage door closing made her even more curious. She hmphed to herself and went inside and was completely surprised to be greeted by a rather sour looking Tom Riddle.

"You could've told me that you were expecting a delivery."

Hermione sneered reflexively at his ill greeting. "Honey, I'm home," she snarked. "And I'm not expecting a delivery. What makes you think it's mine?"

He fished out a yellow slip of paper from his pocket and thrust it at her roughly. Hermione fumbled with it, so close to her face, but snatched it from his fingers and read over the ticket. She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Fuck. He didn't…" And with a renewed burst of energy, she bounded upstairs with her bulky backpack nearly swinging her into the upstairs hall from the momentum following her hurried steps.

Tom quirked an eyebrow and followed after, taking the stairs two at a time, just in time to see her stop in her doorway and drop her bag to the floor.

"Sod it, he _did._ Fuck. I knew he would…the todger…"

"What? Did your precious Abbie get you the wrong one?" Tom sounded quite perturbed.

Hermione jumped, startled by his sudden proximity then shot him a glare over her shoulder. "If you _must_ know, I told him explicitly NOT to get the bloody bed." Her eyes scanned over the nice, simple mahogany frame of a new queen sized bed and its solid panel headboard. Hermione scrubbed at her face, trying to pretend she wasn't seeing what she knew to be an extremely comfortable mattress set atop it, certainly not the one that she _might_ have nodded off on in the department store when Abraxas and Marc had abducted her the other day. "I can't accept this."

Tom made a haughty noise. "Did you want the pony instead, princess?"

She knew he was being obnoxious, petulant may have been a better word, but all she could focus on was the size and value of the huge gift and her anxiety was climbing. A million scenarios and conversations were buzzing through her head and she wasn't sure what to make of this. There were always strings attached, she knew, always, always, always. There always HAD been and there always WOULD be…

When Hermione didn't snap back with her usual sarcasm, Tom took a moment to look at her again and saw that she actually looked a bit…terrified. He frowned. "You really _did_ tell him, didn't you?"

Her head bobbed frantically, eyes widening as more thoughts flitted through her skull and she felt her expression lean a bit more towards one of panic.

Tom's mouth dropped open at the strange turn of events and he felt compelled to say _something_. "H-hey, I'm sure it was just some sort of…misunderstanding or something?"

She swallowed and blinked at him, he did well by not recoiling at just how much of the whites of her eyes were visible. "I can't. I can't do _this_ again. The last time someone spent all sorts of money on me it…well, it didn't really end well. We need to take it back, now! I don't—"

"Hey, hey, hey!" He held a hand out in a soothing fashion and tried to be as calming as possible – not really his forte. "Abraxas is a good bloke! I'm sure he was just doing this as a friend like with all the…erm…knickers he bought you."

Hermione swallowed, looked at the bed, then looked back at Tom, her jaw tightening as she tried to keep her breathing steady. "You think so? He's not…he's not going to—y'know… 'want to break it in' and all?"

Tom _did_ recoil at that thought – for various reasons. He felt a hair of displeasure roil in his gut at the thought of the girl _he_ took in rolling around with _Abraxas_ of all people. "No! Abraxas would never—I'd kill him first."

She looked the most vulnerable he'd ever seen her as she sent another sidelong glance to the mattress.

"Really?"

He watched the longing for the nice cushy bed dance across her expression before disappearing just as quickly and said with certainty, "Yeah. He's just…being nice." Tom's eyes honed in on how she tugged her lip between her teeth and started worrying the poor little thing to death. When he realized he was staring, he cleared his throat and added, "Forget it, Granger. He's more of a trust fund kid than I am. This is like pocket change for him. He loves spending mummy and daddy's money. No strings."

"Really?" she asked again, turning back to look at him.

Tom scoffed. "Would I lie to you?"

"It's highly likely."

He smirked.

 **. . . . .**

"Hey," Tom called from his usual spot in the living room surrounded by books and journals with his back to the garage.

Abraxas paused with one foot on the first step and a brown bag of fresh booze cradled in one of his arms. "Hey?" He drew the word out cautiously.

"Delivery came today."

He brightened and turned full on to Tom's…perpetually bare back. "Oh! Wonderful! How'd she like it?" Tom's shoulders shrugged, the funny skull and snake mural winking at him with the movement.

"She was afraid you were trying to shag her," he replied honestly.

" _What?"_ Abraxas squawked. "She thought—"

"You're not."

The blond raised a neatly manicured eyebrow at the way Tom spoke what probably should have been a question instead as a very stern and curtly uttered statement. It made him smirk and he singsonged teasingly, "And what if I was?"

Tom turned and rose to his feet so quickly it would've given Abraxas whiplash if he hadn't been expecting it. "You're _**not**_."

Abraxas held up his hands as best he could and shrugged. "I'm not _saying_ that I am. But what if I was?"

"Abraxas," Tom growled threateningly.

He scoffed. "Tom, don't you trust me? I haven't done that sort of thing since I was a pup—"

" _Last. Year._ "

"I'm a grown adult," he continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I don't just go about buying fancy gifts for girls I want to shag—"

" _ **PANSY**_ —"

"OH _shush_." Abraxas huffed and planted a hand onto Tom's chest when the man took another step forward. "I am _**not**_ trying to buy her off, calm down." He rolled his eyes when Tom continued glaring. " _Really_ …on my mum."

Tom visibly relaxed then.

Abraxas turned an increasingly interested look onto his friend. "But Tom, the question remains. What would you do if I _was_?"

The blond watched the twitch of muscle in Tom's jaw and neck spasm as he thought for and against opening his mouth to say something in response. The hollows of his cheeks sucked in more than usual making his cheekbones look positively dangerous with the harsh angles they now sported and Abraxas simply waited patiently, an all too knowing smile resting easily on his face.

"Nothing," Tom said finally and stomped back over to his pile of schoolwork.

Abraxas frowned as the man dug himself back into his work, shaking his head and turning back to make a tortuously slow climb up the stairs.

He hummed and sang exaggeratedly with each step.

" _ **Taaaaaaake these broken wiiiiings and learn to fly again, learn to live so free—"**_

Abraxas was pulling himself up to the second floor as if it were a most arduous task.

" _ **When we hear…the voices sing…the book of love will open up and let us iiiiiinnn."**_

At the top of the stairs, he turned on a dime, extracted a bottle of vodka from his bag to hold before his mouth like a mic and scrunched his eyes shut, falling to one knee.

" _ **Take—these broken wiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiingssssssss!"**_

Abraxas dodged the heavy _tome_ that came soaring through the air and hopped about on the balls of his feet to reach his room before the second one hit the space he'd just been occupying.

 **. . . . .**

The bed was great.

It was better than great.

The bed was _brilliant._

The bed was _too_ brilliant.

Hermione nearly tumbled down the stairs, causing a ruckus and making all sorts of obnoxious noises in her rush to get out of the house. If she had not slept in on the great, brilliant, lovely, and so cushy mattress, she might actually be disturbing someone. As it was, it seemed the boys were all gone already for the day.

She was still shoving books and her work hat into her backpack while trying to get it on her back at the same time as she tore across the front yard in the direction of campus. Hermione made it to the drive when one of her bag straps snapped apart at her frenzied efforts and its contents spilled all over the concrete. "FUCK!" She dropped to her knees and continued her scrambling, stopping once to check her watch before continuing to shovel everything back into the bag all while muttering a repeated stream of _"Bugger bugger bugger bugger bugger!"_

"Granger!"

Hermione looked up to see Tom, travel mug of coffee set on the roof of his car with a piece of toast in one hand while the other was on the handle of the door.

"I'm late!" she called dismissively, refocusing her attention back to her mess of books and things. Another full day of classes followed by a closing shift at the coffee shop - her poor bag was worn ragged. _Fuck_ , she was going to need to get a new one. Hermione made a mental note to see if there were any more hours that she wasn't already working that she could pick up to pay for a better one but – _shit_ , rent was coming up too – _FUCK._ Just… _fuck_.

"Where's the fire?"

His voice was closer and when Hermione looked up again, he was a few feet away, munching placidly on his toast. She huffed at his casual demeanor. "I've got class in twenty minutes and this—" Hermione sneered at her broken bag. "— _rubbish_ is not doing me any favours. I'm going to be late. There's no way I'll get to class on time having to fuss with this nonsense."

"Wait. You're still _walking_ to campus?"

Hermione hoped she could _hear_ how hard her eyes rolled at his question. " _Yes,_ I'm still walking. Do you KNOW how much it costs to fuel that beastly tank of mine? If you want rent money, something's gotta give. Anyway, I don't have time to—HEY! Give that back!"

She came to her feet when Tom hoisted the ripped backpack off the ground and began walking to his car, crunching the remainder of his toasty bread.

"Tom! TOM!" She glared and hurried after him. "RICKLE! Give me my bag!"

"Get in the car, Granger."

She frowned. "What?"

This time he did stop to look back at her even as he popped his trunk. "I'll say it more slowly for you: get-in-the-car."

When she didn't and proceeded only to scowl, Tom sighed, tossed her bag into the trunk and slammed it shut before she could protest any further. He plucked his drink off the roof, continued on to the driver's seat and got in but it wasn't until he'd started the engine that she finally – _testily_ – climbed into the passenger seat.

The campus was a relatively short drive away…at least with the way Tom drove.

He insisted on running through the drive thru of a fantastic breakfast place on the way, assuring her that they would still get to their classes in plenty of time as he'd _"done it all before plenty of times."_ Despite Hermione's protests, he got them both breakfast sandwiches and she was officially introduced to the poncy food stop that made the delicious croissant thing she'd had the day they'd moved her things.

Hermione had very _not_ daintily devoured the sandwich and Tom made a face and snarky comment about her starving herself but if he'd truly thought she looked positively wrecked, he at least didn't show it.

"Why didn't you tell us you were walking still?"

Hermione shifted her attention from the passing landscape to the man who so studiously had his eyes set upon the road in front of him. She shrugged and turned back to admire the sunrise and the palms whizzing by. Her lids were already heavy from her meal and for as fast as Tom drove, it was a smooth ride.

"Seemed irrelevant," she muttered.

Tom glanced at her, watched her shift lower into the seat and pillow her head more comfortably on the headrest. "How so?"

"I walk everywhere. Why would I tell you about the one place that I _still_ walk?" Hermione yawned and sighed, relaxing into the rhythmic hum of the engine.

"Point..."

Tom continued with some idle conversation, more than he was used to, seeing what she thought of the house so far and eventually broached the topic of his singing group.

"… _Rebellious Phrase_." It was a hesitant answer to a half-conscious question. He'd had plenty of unpleasant reactions to the group's name and was surprised when hers was… _completely different_.

Hermione smiled and laughed a little laugh, but it was soft and nearly sweet. Her eyes were glazed and almost shut, but she grinned. "That's actually…very clever."

Tom was sure his eyebrows shot straight off his head and through the roof of his car. He barely kept himself from turning to give her his most skeptical of looks to see if she was taking the piss. "Thanks," he nearly stammered the word. Tom's grip on the steering wheel flexed and shifted, the leather creaking under the pressure and he cautiously added, "We have a standing gig every Friday at the Hog's Head. There's a cover but if you ever want to see, we'll tell them you're with us."

It seemed like forever before he got a response and when it came, it wasn't what he'd expected.

Hermione's steady, light snoring rattled to life over the quiet blowing of the a/c unit.

Tom peeked at her from the corner of his eye and saw her head lolling back and forth against the window, mouth dropped open very slightly so her miniature Darth Vader-esque noises could escape.

The resulting smirk tugged at his lips so fiercely he couldn't have controlled it if he'd wanted to. He managed to hold in his snickering at her nearly drooling on his interior, albeit barely. When he took a speedbump too fast, he reflexively reached out and caught her head in the cradle of his palm before she could smack into the window, carefully guiding her to the headrest instead.

The treacherous thought that her hair was _much_ softer than it appeared invaded his head and he extracted his hand quickly, setting his typical grimace back in place and going back to gripping the wheel.

Tom pulled up to the building where Hermione had told him earlier she needed to be with just minutes to spare. Rolling to a stop and placing the car in park as quietly as he could, he sighed, looking over at his snoozing passenger. She'd curled onto her side as much as the seatbelt would allow – _Unsafely!_ Blaise would have said – and had her cheek pillowed on the top of the seat back with her hands tucked beneath her chin. Tom thought she looked something like a big, frizzy, sleeping bunny with her hands like that…or really, more like a sleeping T-Rex with what he knew of her.

He reached out with the intention of gently jostling her awake and hesitated with a frown.

 _Gods,_ _she looks knackered. Maybe—_

"Your fingers smell like bacon," Hermione muttered.

Tom flinched at the sudden husky rumble of her already sleep laden voice and pulled his hand back. "We're here."

The girl whined, stretching her legs out as far as she could along the floorboard, snuggling into the passenger seat with a petulant wriggle. "Five more minutes, mum."

Tom snorted, unclipping her seatbelt so it zipped back across her lap and snapped her on the rear. "Out."

Hermione fussed some more with the smallest of grins on her face but opened her door anyway. "Y'know I had the _best_ dream just now."

" _Really?_ "

She rolled off of the passenger seat as if she were made of goo, oh so dramatically, until she was kneeling outside the car with her elbows on the vacated spot, chin resting in her palms and her lashes fluttering sweetly. "Mmhmm. I dreamt you _weren't_ and unholy arsehole and we went frolicking about ruling the world with bacon, egg, and cheese croissants and that terrible blended coffee drink you make me make for you all the time. Only it was iced, so it was a tad more palatable."

Tom laughed. "It's only terrible because you make it." He reached over to palm her face, teasingly pushing her back out of the car. "Now get out of here before you drool any more on the leather."

Hermione responded by dragging her tongue along his palm, causing him to jerk away in surprise.

" _Euuuugh!"_

The pair of them made faces.

"Ugh, you _taste_ like _buttery_ bacon."

Hermione was smacking her lips and scrunching her nose in a way that – God help him – Tom found not at all unattractive and quite possibly 'adorable' if such a word existed within his vocabulary.

He fixed her with his best sneer and went about swiping the one hand on his trouser leg while using the other to find the button to pop his trunk. "You're _disgusting_ , woman. Stop _licking_ everything!"

She said nothing else to him, simply pushed to her feet, gave a cheeky wink, and cackled as evilly as she could muster while collecting her things from the back of his car. Hermione slammed the trunk lid, gave it two heavy handed taps once it was secured and waved at him before jogging to the building and, he surmised, to class.

He lingered there for many moments, brow dipping comically low while he continued to stare after her.

Tom couldn't shake the way the press of her tongue felt dragging over his palm…

The small plastic ball tickling across his skin…

The most interesting tingles that had shot up his arm…

It was...

It was...

 _It was very much time for him to get to his own class._


	13. Chapter 13

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 13**

Wednesday.

Wednesdays were notoriously slow.

This particular Wednesday was positively torturous.

Hermione's only class for the day was cancelled so she found herself with a great deal of time on her hands all of a sudden. Since she was currently existing practically only to wake up, work, and do school work, Hermione had her time all plotted out to a tee. All of her assignments were typically finished the day after they were given out so she had even more time to work and accrue money to continue not being homeless - so that's what she did. She still hadn't quite gotten to the level where she could buy food beyond what existed in the campus cafeteria once or twice a day but she was working on it. And really, living off of coffee, blueberry muffins, and assorted scones otherwise wasn't _terrible…_

The bell tinkled and the annoying girl, more annoying than Penny, greeted the newcomer and took his order. Hermione just went about cleaning her station, idly listening to the rattling off of drinks as she stocked cups and lids and straws until she heard the _"venti, cinnamon dolce latte, no whip."_

Logically, she knew it wasn't Tom. It certainly didn't sound like him and the uncertainty in which the man said it made her sure it wasn't. That didn't, however, keep her from turning around, eyes wide and searching out the source. "Abraxas?" She realized he'd called his order awkwardly and with an American accent; she snorted.

The blond smiled charmingly, paid, and then came around to the side of the counter to greet her. "Hey, Hermione. Fancy meeting you here." He waggled his pale eyebrows.

She chuckled and grabbed up the cups that what's-her-no-name passed over to begin her work. "Yes, quite a shock, I'm sure." Hermione rustled about between the few different machines she had at her disposal, feeling Abraxas' eyes tracking her in amazement. She was measuring and pouring the first drink when she asked, "What brings you out so late? And…really, I didn't even think you _drank_ coffee."

"Well I usually don't, but I tried one of those drinks that you made the other night and it was _quite_ good." He leaned over the counter trying to scope out what she was doing. "So I ordered one of those—hey, we have some little metal pitchers like that at home!"

Hermione gave him a sidelong glance then went back to mixing. "No, we don't."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure we—"

"No. We don't. But anyway, I'm glad you liked them! You should be careful though…drinking all this caffeine this late in the evening when you're not used it? You'll be buzzing through the night."

Abraxas gave her a dismissive wave. "That's fine. We've got rehearsal tonight, so it works out."

"Oh?" Hermione perked up at that. "For Friday, right?"

He nodded, grinning. "Yeah! Who told you about that?"

She pulled the next cup to her and saw "Rickle" scrawled on the side. Hermione snorted and pulled a Sharpie off of her apron, crossed out the name and corrected it to "Riddle" before starting on the drink. "Tom, actually."

Abraxas was back to leaning on the pickup counter watching her work, but he arched a brow at that, lips tilting in a smirk. " _Did_ he now?"

Hermione flushed, the tops of her ears turning pink at the way he said that. "Yeah," she muttered. When he didn't stop grinning at her she snapped at him, _"What?"_

"Nothing," he chirped. "So are you coming?"

"What?" she asked again, this time her attention was very intensely focused on creating Tom's drink. She'd started adding little things to it to see if he'd notice as idle experimentation and in doing so found that he actually liked a shake of nutmeg into his drink along with the cinnamon. So far, she was pretty sure he hadn't realized it, but his rate of consumption whenever he'd ordered it was higher when she put it in than when she left it out. The manipulation of his coffee drinking amused her to no end.

Abraxas smiled at how methodically she was preparing Tom's coffee, comparing it to the robotic motions she'd gone through with the others. "Are you coming? To the show? …on Friday?"

Hermione's blush deepened and she shrugged, shook a couple of teaspoons of nutmeg over Tom's drink and snapped a lid on. She popped all of Abraxas' order into a cup holder and passed it to him. "Maybe? I've got to work so—"

"You've _always_ got to work," he huffed.

She smirked. "Yeah well, some of us aren't filthy stinkin' rich."

"Hermione," he whined, "You should really _try_. We'd love it if you came to see us."

She wasn't sure if she could roll her eyes any harder at his little juvenile noises. "Abraxas—"

"Hermioneeeeeeeee—"

She blinked at him. "Abraxas I—"

"Come oooooooooooon—"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Will you stop your whinging?"

"Maybeeeeeeee—"

"OH MY GOD, Abraxas!"

"Hermioneeeeeee—"

"STOP!" She flung her hands into the air and huffed. "I will _try_ , okay?"

The blond gave her the biggest, grayest puppy dog eyes she'd ever seen. His lip even came out, _just_ a little.

Hermione scowled. "Abraxas…I'll _try._ That's the best I can do."

Abraxas gnawed on the corner of his lip. "Promise?"

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. Promise."

"Brilliant!"

Hermione flapped her hand at him, shooing him away. "Alright then, go and get to your pretty boy band party."

He grinned and plucked up the cup holder. "Can we expect you home any time soon?"

"Ehhh…" She checked her watch. "An hour? A little longer maybe?"

Abraxas frowned at that and looked back to the writing on the shop's window. "I thought this place closes in five?"

"Yes," she drew the word out with some amusement. "And we have to close and do little working class things that I'm sure are positively plebeian to you."

Abraxas clucked his tongue haughtily, playing along. "Right, right, of course. And how long do these—" He twirled his fingers around in dismissive circles between them. "—utterly _common_ things take?"

"Another twenty to thirty minutes, surely."

The serious frown was back. "Then why an hour? You're just dodging me aren't you? You can _say_ so y'know."

Hermione chortled and shook her head. "Usually takes me another half hour or so to walk home."

"You're _WALKING?!"_ Abraxas' mouth dropped open. "What? _WHY?"_

She gave him the strangest of looks, searching his expression to see if he was really just as appalled as he appeared. When he was still gaping at her, she laughed. "What is it with you guys? Is it truly that foreign of a concept?"

He sputtered and followed her around as she moved from one spot in her prep station to the next. "But you have a _car!_ " he squawked.

"It's not far, Abraxas." Hermione had almost spouted off about fuel being expensive, but decided on the answer that wouldn't get her some sort of preloaded gas card with obscene amounts of money dropped into it left in her bag.

"But it's DARK outside!" He flailed at the window trying to illustrate that it was, in fact, dark outside.

She raised an eyebrow and glanced up from cleaning out some pump tops before shaking her head and getting back to it. "Don't even start with that."

"Hermione," Abraxas began seriously, palms flat on the counter, "You are _not_ walking home by yourself at this hour!" Those chocolate eyes snapped back up to his face holding the most dangerous look he'd ever seen directed his way; he resisted yelping in surprise…and maybe a little bit of fear. "I-I mean…"

"Look—" She pointed a stern finger at him. "—you're not my mum. I am a grown woman who, might I add, can take quite good care of myself despite what you may think. I am not some bloody charity case and I am not some helpless, hapless, delicate waif! So the lot of you can bin your little goodwill act!"

Abraxas' brow furrowed. "But technically you really kind of _were_ at least a couple of those things—"

"I can cut you in your sleep."

He pouted.

"Put that away." She glared.

His lip stuck out more.

"Abraxas!"

"Hermioneeeeeeeeee—"

The last syllable of her name stretched on for what seemed forever, raising towards the end in a perfectly pitched noise that bordered on dog whistle territory.

Hermione let it go on for a handful of seconds before she snarled and threw a dish towel at him. "WILL YOU FUCKING _STOP?!_ "

He caught the rag but continued. For a moment she'd forgotten the man could sing and, as such, was really having very little issue holding his nearly shrill note for as long as he was; he sounded like a test for the Emergency Broadcasting System – _only_ a test.

Swiping a hand over her face, she growled and finally said, "OKAY _**FINE!**_ JESUS CHRIST, _**STOP!**_ "

And he did.

He smiled at her pleasantly. "Marvelous! I'll wait for you in the car while you do your pleb things."

Hermione snorted and let out a heavy, haggard sigh at the man's back. "Spoilt tosser."

 **. . . . .**

Abraxas and Hermione arrived back at the house laughing and having quite a decent time.

Abraxas had been enlightening her about the pool and Jacuzzi she'd yet to go and take advantage of since her arrival, threatening her with the impending autumn weather – which was not close _at all_ – and how she needed to act NOW or be _doooooooomed_ to wait several months before it was suitable bikini weather again. She opted to keep the fact to herself that she had no such clothing in her possession lest she find Victoria's Secret swims suddenly showing up at the house with some rather hopeful cup sizes addressed to her name.

"…wait, so…say it again. What's the difference? I'm not sure I got it, a hot tub is…but..wait, say it again?"

"It's _easy_ , Hermione! Okay, so a Jacuzzi is merely a brand name of hot tub. Therefore, all Jacuzzis are hot tubs, but not all hot tubs are Jacuzzis! Easy-peasy."

"Ah…yes, it's so clear to me now."

 _"Well, it's mighty nice of you to show, Abs."_

Abraxas' head popped up and he turned abruptly to see Tom lounging on the couch looking so very irritated. _Honestly_ , though, when did he not look irritated?

The man's dark eyes caught sight of the two of them, Hermione's arm looped through one of Abraxas' with her other hand holding the carrier of drinks he'd sent the blond to fetch nearly an hour ago. "I told you to get us coffee, not bring home the bloody barista."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at his foul mood but Abraxas scoffed and spoke first. "What the hell's got your knickers in a wad, Tom?"

"What's got my—" Tom sneered and pushed to his feet, glare lingering on the way he had his hand folded over Hermione's. "We have fucking _work_ to do! You know Regulus' time is limited during the week and here you are just… _frolicking_ around with Granger when we needed you back A-S-A-P!"

"Hey, now wait a fucking minute—"

"And you," Tom stopped Hermione mid-sentence, pointing a finger at her, glare still in place, "had I known that extending a bloody helping hand to the homeless was going to cause me as much headache as it has so far, I might've thought on it a hair longer. If you could do me a favour, please, and re-work your shagging schedule so that it _doesn't_ interfere with what few commitments and responsibilities our dear Abbie has, it'd be _much_ appreciated." His snark was absolutely scathing that evening and the harshness of his delivery made both Abraxas AND Hermione jerk back in surprise.

"Tom!" Abraxas hissed, "We are-NOT-shagging! Hermione, please don't hit him again. He's a big-fucking- _ **WANKER**_ but he brings in the cash with that fucking _**IDIOT**_ mouth of his." Each angrily enunciated word was spat just as harshly in Tom's direction while alternating and sending the prettier, nicer tones towards the girl that was standing in shock at the sudden attack.

Hermione was still reeling from Tom's _so_ strange behavior that she wasn't even quite sure what she should say. He thought she was _shagging_ Abraxas? She wanted to laugh. She'd already been down that sort of path once before…not a fucking chance. And he was _there_ when she'd freaked out about the bed—he was THERE! What the fucking _hell?_

She plucked the coffee she'd prepared for the stupid-faced-stupid-hair-having Tom Riddle from its spot in the holder and shoved the rest of the drinks at Abraxas. The blond was so sure, with the few steps she took to close the distance between her and the other man, that Hermione was about to scald their roommate with that so carefully made beverage.

"My apologies, Tom," Hermione said coldly and passed him the drink. "Won't happen again. Have a good night, would you?"

She turned on her heel and marched upstairs, never once turning around or even glancing back in their direction as she marched to her room and slammed the door shut.

Abraxas waited until he was positive she was tucked away before snatching up a throw pillow and swinging, with all of his weight behind it, at Tom's head. The man dodged the brunt of the blow but still ultimately was pummeled in the side of the face and sputtered, nearly spilling the cooling coffee all over himself.

"WATCH IT—"

"You are a bleeding _MORON!_ What on God's green earth is _wrong_ with you, you outrageous twat?!"

"Hey, fuck you!"

Abraxas swung the pillow several more times with such rapid frequency, all Tom could do was half curl into himself while standing, trying to dodge the fluffy thing. "You know, she was _just_ coming around to seeing that you might actually be an interesting bloke worth getting to know, but I'm pretty sure – no, I am POSITIVE – you've just dashed that all to bits!"

Tom grimaced, feeling a hot flush creeping up his neck. He turned his cup in his hands a few times and muttered grouchily, "The hell are you talking about?"

"Oh sod it, Tom! Like I'm blind? I would call you a sissy when it comes to acknowledging your feelings, but that would merely be an insult to all sissies everywhere! You like her! I see it! Blaise sees it! Marcus sees it! Can you stop being a bleeding prick and ask her out already instead of parading around like a jealous twit?!"

"I'm not—"

"It's like you're twelve! You don't snark at a girl to get her to like you at this age, Tom! Try being charming for once instead of whatever bullshite _this_ is. Jesus!" Abraxas dropped the holder of drinks onto the coffee table and made his own way up the stairs.

"Hey!" Tom called out lamely. "What about practice?"

" _Practice?"_ Abraxas paused on the stairs long enough to shoot Tom a disgusted look and continued on, grumbling, "You _are_ a sodding smeg."

Tom glared at the man's back and huffed, slumping back down onto the couch. The bit of red that had mucked up his head as soon as he heard the couple laughing, joking, and bouncing in arm-in-arm faded and he replayed that awful display in his head again. He groaned and frowned hard at the drink he was twisting round and round in his hands.

His heart dropped when he caught sight of the black script on the side of the cup where the ever persistent _"Rickle"_ abomination had been scribbled out and a neat, elegant cursive that read _"Riddle"_ had been written in its stead.

Tom was still wearing a horrid look on his face, lips all screwed up in a wretched mess as he fixated on the delicate, looping lines, when Blaise shuffled out of the rec room. He was wearing nothing but his pyjama trousers that had cartoonish interpretations of finger foods coupled with their names printed in equally cartoony scrawl near each picture. The dark skinned man shuffled around the couch and the coffee table to the small tray of drinks, he scanned the remaining ones and popped his iced coffee out, popped a straw in and sipped it while he looked at Tom; the man looked as if he'd swallowed a toad.

"You _are_ a sodding smeg," Blaise repeated Abraxas' earlier sentiment.

Tom scowled at him. "You don't even know what that _means._ "

"I don't have to know, to know that you _are_ one."

Tom looked as if he wanted to sneer and protest some more and then he looked at her neat writing of his _correct_ name once more. He placed his drink on the table and groaned once more, letting his head fall into his hands. "You're not wrong…"

Blaise huffed. "Of course not. I'm never wrong." He resumed sipping his iced drink and shuffled back down the hall, leaving Tom to his – or at least what _he_ liked to call – 'miserable pining noises'.

* * *

 **A/N:** Oh the aca- _ANGST!_ Don't worry, it doesn't last very long. More singing...next chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**Aca-Playlist:** S&M by Rihanna as performed by Overboard  
Stacy's Mom by Fountains of Wayne as performed by Bowling for Soup  
Lollipop by MIKA as performed by the Treblemakers from Pitch Perfect 2  
Good Girls Go Bad by Cobra Starship as performed by Pitch Slapped 

* * *

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 14**

Tom was hovering outside Hermione's bedroom door the following morning. His hand was poised to knock but he was hesitating, not sure if she'd even be up yet or not. He happened to observe that she had an early class on Thursdays and he suspected that, if she wasn't already awake, she would need to be up soon. Tom was hoping to catch her before she left so that perhaps he could try to dislodge the foot – the entire leg, really – that he'd shoved all the way down his throat the night before.

Taking a deep breath and chastising him for, as Abraxas put it, being a sissy, he rapped firmly on her door and waited.

And waited.

He frowned when there was nothing but resounding silence and knocked again.

Still nothing.

Tom gnawed on the inside of his cheek and looked behind him down the hall to see if anyone was coming and when he saw nothing, he twisted the knob very gently, finding it unlocked.

"Granger?" Tom called softly into the bedroom, knowing he really shouldn't be doing this but slightly more driven to make amends. "Hey…Granger, you up?"

The room was pitch black but he could smell the telltale remnants of a hot shower wafting from the direction of the bathroom. He frowned, flipped on the light and padded inside, shoving his hands into his pyjama pockets with a great, exasperated sigh. She'd already gone, apparently.

"Buggered that one up, real well Tom," he muttered to himself. Tom was careful not to touch anything _inside_ her room lest it be _more_ creepy than it probably already was that he was in there without her. He gave the inside another once over to be sure she'd left and the intense wave of guilt that flooded through him when he saw her closet was stifling. Her pillow and blanket were in the fucking closet again looking decidedly slept in and it made him want to punch a wall. He remembered all too vividly how harshly he'd accused her of sleeping with Abraxas.

 _You and your goddamned mouth, Riddle. FUCK._

Needing to very quickly get out of there, he flicked the light off and exited, shutting the door firmly behind him. He was still grimacing when he went downstairs to the kitchen to get some coffee…

…immediately thinking of his rough and tumble flatmate as soon as the idea of coffee popped into his head.

" _FUCK."_

"Good morning, smeg."

Tom looked up and saw Marcus at the stove, preparing to make what appeared to be a grilled cheese sandwich. He narrowed his eyes. "You too?"

"Mmm," Marc hummed in the affirmative. "Regs had something else to call you last night, but I can't remember, so that'll do."

Slumping down into one of the dining room chairs, Tom moaned tiredly into his palms. "It's like I live with a bunch of nosy birds," he grumbled.

"Well, it's not like we couldn't hear you yelling at them like a jellie belly from down the hall."

Tom made another disgruntled noise.

"After all that _RUDE_ shit that you said, we were concerned about her packing her stuff up and leaving this morning."

 _That_ thought hadn't occurred to him yet and Tom sat upright in his chair.

Marcus saw the man jolt up, trying to look a lot calmer than he probably was, and gave him a _look_ and a shake of the head before going back to starting on his sandwich. "Yeah, fucker. Maybe next time you'll think before you start throwing your weight around like that, ya _thick git!_ "

"Hey, watch it, Flint," Tom growled but then gave him a thoughtful look. "Good job, though, you're starting to pick up the language."

Marc grinned proudly and gave a single, sharp nod. "I would leave her be for a minute if I were you. Blaise caught her this morning and offered to drive her to work or school, whichever it is she has—"

"School," he said automatically.

The big man blinked at him then shook his head again. "-he's trying to fix your mess."

Tom started to exhale a bit of a relieved sigh when it clicked _who_ it was had taken her. "Wait. Did you say _Blaise_ is driving her?"

"Yup."

"Oh _fuck._ "

Marc couldn't help the smallest, vindictive grin. "Eeeeeeyup."

 **. . . . .**

"That limey—what was the word again?"

"Todger."

"That limey todger!"

Hermione snorted and sank further into the bucket seat of Blaise's convertible. He had the top down and, while the wind was havoc on her hair even while it was tied back, the breeze felt nice on her skin. "Nice job on the accent. You no longer sound like you're in a Pink Floyd video."

Blaise grinned over at her. "Passable in polite company?"

That made her laugh. "If by 'polite company' you mean crowds that are perfectly fine with your endless stream of amused curses, then sure."

He chuckled and took another turn, heading to the breakfast place he and Tom and some of the others tended to enjoy before starting their day. Once they got on the main road leading to it, Blaise noticed that Hermione had gone quieter than she'd been yet that morning.

"Hey, Hoodlum." She blinked over at him. "You alright?"

Hermione gave him a half smile, shrugged, then went back to looking out to the passing palm trees. "I'm good."

Blaise frowned, waited until he'd shifted gears again then reached over to tug sharply on one of her tendrils of curls.

"OW!" She fixed him with a glare, rubbing at her scalp. "What the fuck, Blaise?!"

" _Language!_ " He hissed, then said, "And you're lying."

Hermione huffed and wriggled further down into the passenger seat, folding her arms stubbornly.

"Hey."

She was silent.

"Hermione!"

" _What?!"_

"Don't leave, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "Really, I'm fine."

"Yeah, and I like girls."

Hermione gave him a sour look.

"Look. Don't leave. Tom is…he's a bit of an acquired taste. While he most definitely is a _limey todger-"_ He smirked when she snorted a laugh. "-and a little bit…broken, he's an okay guy."

"An okay guy that accused me not once, but _twice_ of paying our flatmate for things with sexual favours!"

"Okay, so he's a _lot_ bit broken." Blaise's lips twitched down in a pronounced frown. "He's just jealous, anyway."

"Of _what?_ "

He shot her a disbelieving look. "Uh, _hello?_ "

" _What?_ "

"You're serious with this shit?" At his question, she actually gave him a puzzled look and he guffawed obnoxiously into the early morning air. "WOW! You two ARE a pair."

" _WHAT?"_ she asked again, irritation clear in the single word. Hermione had turned towards him and was practically sitting sideways in her seat.

Blaise pointed at her and said, " _That's_ not safe." And he poked at her until she was facing forward again. "Anyway, I can't believe you're really that clueless. Tom is jealous because he likes you and he's gone all…caveman like or something. I'm surprised he hasn't tried to piss on you yet to mark his territory."

Hermione snorted so hard at that she nearly choked. "THAT is disgusting."

"Which part? The fact that Tom wants to get his cooties all up in your everything or the urine?"

Her lip curled. "Seriously, did I move into a house full of men or children?"

"I prefer to think it all as an abode full of handsome man-children. Because, really, it's hard to be masculine when your rent money comes from singing remixed pop hits and dancing on stage with bowties and little vaudeville hats."

The oddly blunt sincerity of his comment tricked a laugh out of her and Hermione rubbed at her face. "You make my head hurt…I'm now imagining five grown men with obscene abdominal definition wearing tight Oxfords and plaid bowties."

Blaise grinned lopsidedly. "Yeah, me too. We _are_ pretty hot."

She rolled her eyes. "But _really_ though? It's so excessive!"

"What is?"

"Those little dimple things!" Hermione wiggled in her seat so she could reach the spot just above her pelvic bone and poke at where she'd spotted them on Tom and him and that other English person the other night. "Here! What even _are_ those things? And why do you ALL have them?"

He glanced at her and grinned. "Because who _doesn't_ love an Adonis belt? Some devil's horns? Some _come get some_?"

Hermione groaned dramatically in an attempt to drown out the tittering giggles that were trying to squeak out of her instead. "You're a bloody _loon._ "

Blaise smiled. "You feel better now, though. Right?"

She blinked him in a bit of surprise and gave the question some actual thought before flashing a small smile of her own and giving a nod.

The silence between them was lighter as Blaise drove them to get those fancy breakfast sandwiches that Hermione was quickly becoming addicted to. They were nearly there when he scratched a little nervously at the back of his neck and said, "So don't leave, okay? He didn't mean any of what he said."

Hermione's lips twitched in a frown. "I'll consider that when making my decision."

"You should consider coming to the show tomorrow night, too."

"I've got to work."

"We're on late."

"I'll _consider_ it." She sighed and folded her arms. "…are there really bowties _and_ hats?"

" _Oh_ yes."

Blaise was back to grinning.

His grin turned into a quiet chuckle by the time they were pulling into the breakfast joint.

Hermione scowled at the apparent joke and waved her hand at him. "What's all that about?"

"Just imagining you two could fuck out your differences after the show and then see where it leaves you. Tom is _definitely_ more palatable in uniform."

She wasn't sure precisely what shade of red her cheeks turned in that instant, but she would hazard a guess at 'puce'. "My _GOD_ , do you have NO filter?"

"Oh, I do. Life is just more fun without it."

 **. . . . .**

Tom checked his watch and peeked around the edge of the heavy velveteen curtain with his typical scowl. The bar was packed, as it usually was, and at least half a dozen of the tables closest to the stage were filled with women that – in Tom's opinion – were wearing _far_ too much makeup and perfume and far too little of everything else. While he wasn't what he would consider a prude, there was something to be said about not meeting a woman's lavender and vanilla drenched tits before being able to get to her face.

He was still scanning the crowd when a firm, though not too jostling, blow hit the back of his head and nearly sent his hat soaring past the curtain. Tom snatched it out of the air and ducked behind the drape again to glare at Blaise.

Blaise was setting his own hat on his head at a jaunty tilt and adjusting his suspenders and the rolls of his sleeves. "She'll be here."

Tom's jaw twitched. He ran a hand through his gelled hair, smoothing his normally wavy mop back into its suave, near pompadour state before replacing the flat topped hat.

When he looked as though he was about to protest, Blaise reached out and pinched his lips shut firmly, earning him a wrathful look. "And you will apologize to her after the show."

Tom smacked his hand away, rubbing at his lips that already felt swollen. "Sticking your nose everywhere it doesn't belong again, Blaise?"

He scoffed. "Well, _one_ of us has to make sure you don't die a virgin."

Tom flushed and reached out to smack him. "I'm not a bleeding virgin!"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Might as well be. It's been long enough since you—"

" _ **Ladies and gentlemen!"**_

Abraxas came hurrying in, looking suspiciously rumpled. "Come on, gents! Places!"

Tom narrowed his eyes. "Were you out back snogging Pans again?"

"No!" Abraxas rasped out huskily, grimaced, then extracted his pitch pipe from his pocket to find his proper key. " _No,_ " he said again, a little higher. At Tom's skeptical look, he hurried them again. "PLACES!"

" _ **We'd like to welcome you back again to The Hog's Head's live music night!"**_

A round of applause sounded alongside mixed cheers.

Regulus and Marcus ambled on stage, grinning at the blonde while he fanned himself to chase away the pink to his neck and cheeks.

Marcus nudged the other man and pointed at Abraxas' trousers. "Tenor's got a _Toner._ " Regulus had to cover his mouth to keep from bursting into raucous laughter.

" _ **Please turn your attention to the stage! Dig into those chicken fingers and raise your cups – and remember that Newcastle is on draft tonight for $1 a glass or $3 pints!"**_

"Ugh." Tom made a face and tilted his head from one side to the other until a series of satisfying cracks sounded. "Mate, you want to get that under control before curtain?"

Abraxas breathed deeply. _In – Professor McGonagall in a bikini. Out – nude. In – bikini. Out – nude._ He took another set of breaths for good measure, checked himself, then nodded. "A-okay."

"Don't you mean _'aca-okay'_?"

" _No!"_ Abraxas hissed at Regulus.

"Oh, your girlfriend not rubbing off on you then?"

" _Something_ was rubbing off on him but I guess it wasn't her mou—"

"Shut it, Blaise! And we are _not_ exclusive! Fucking tossers, the lot of you-"

" _Laaaaanguage—"_ Blaise sing-songed and the others tittered.

" _ **Now, without fuuuuuuurther ado, The Hog's Head very own a cappella seeeeeeeennnnnsations: Rebellious Phrase!"**_

The cheers reached beyond the fabric barrier before it had even started to rise, catcalls from all the women in the front row being the most noticeable of the bunch.

Tom rolled his eyes but by the time the curtain was fully drawn, the slyest of smiles turned up the corners of his lips and a huge, bright, hot-as-shit spotlight flooded the stage to highlight him and all of his crew. The front row erupted in screaming cheers and there was even an _"I LOVE YOU TOM!"_ or two and a corner of more masculine chanting to the tune of _"R-A-B! R-A-B!"_ – Regulus gave them a wink and a wave.

Tom tugged his mic off the stand and flashed one of the girls who was flailing and screaming in his general direction a twinkle filled wink, himself; she practically _swooned._

"Thank you all for coming out tonight," Tom purred silkily into the microphone. "I hope you've all come ready to have a _good_ time—"

He reached up to his bowtie and yanked the thing loose, following it up with a jerk to his collar to pop open the first few buttons of his shirt. With an exaggerated sweep of his hand, he dragged his fingers down the entire length of his torso, stopping to hover at his belt buckle and pausing for the excited cheers of most of the female population in the audience. He flashed them a devilish smile and raked his fingers back up to stop and dip beneath the edge of the barely opened top, massaging at the brawny pec that just _barely_ peeked out from the parted edge.

"—because it's time to get a little _bad_."

 **. ~ .**

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **Na na na na na Come on**_

 _ **Na na na Come on**_

 _ **Come on**_

 _ **Come on…**_

' **~ '**

 **. . . . .**

Hermione was scrubbing her station with fervor, really putting some elbow grease into getting the caramel syrup that seemed to have fused itself to the counter _out_.

"Penny—"

" _Twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, one..."_

She used one hand to scrub and the other to pop the drinks she'd made into a carrier.

"Penny—"

"… _forty, sixty, eighty, two…"_

Hermione tugged off her cap, pulled off her apron, and folded them up neatly to shove into her bag with her books and a change of clothes that she didn't even get to use because the last little group of twerps wouldn't get the hell out of the store.

When the girl was still counting and not even acknowledging her existence, Hermione shouted, "PENNY!"

Penny jumped and squeaked then whirled around to give Hermione a glare. _"WHAT?!"_

"I'm leaving!"

The girl's face took on a largely puzzled look. "What?"

"I'm leaving! Going! Splitting! Running off! Toodle-loo!"

Penny frowned at the idea of locking up by herself. "You can't leave!"

Hermione was shrugging into the straps of her 'repaired' backpack, testing the knot where she'd just tied the broken strap together, before running around to the outside of the counter and plucking up her drink tray.

"I think you'll find that I absolutely can! Check the board, all the shift work is done, so—g'night Penny!"

"Hermione!"

She hurried out the door as if she was on fire and running for the ocean. "BYE!"

 **. . . . .**

The crowd was drunk – with $3 pints, that didn't tend to take long – and it was just as well, seeing how the drunker they were, the more made in the basement CDs were purchased and the heavier their tip bucket got.

Tom had stepped his way off the stage to one of the spare tables shoved up against the wall nearby and was swarmed by a handful of women of various ages, doing their drunken dancing… _thing_ they did.

Blaise was _dip-dip-dip_ -ing out a tune alongside strange warbling noises that Regulus was somehow managing to do with his mouth and a funny maneuvering of his cheek and neck muscles.

Tom squatted down in front of thirty-plus-girl-with-too-much-eye-makeup, plopped his hat atop her head, and was rewarded with a very wide, very drunk smile. He returned it with an oh-so-charming one of his own, resisting the sneer trying to turn his lip. _**"You know, I'm not the little boy that I used to be. I'm all grown up now, baby can't you see?"**_

Marcus and Abraxas watched Tom politely peel a woman's hand away from his chest while smiling the panty melting, money belt loosening, smile that made dealing with the ass marginally easier and harmonizing with him while taking bets on how long he could stand to 'mingle' with his fans.

" _ **Stacy's mom has got it goin' on! She's all I want and I've waited for so— long."**_

 _One…two…three…_

" _ **Stacy, can't you see? You're just not the girl for me!"**_

… _five…six…seven…_

" _ **I know it might be wrong, but I'm in love with Stacy's mom!"**_

… _nine…te—_

Tom managed to leap back over to the edge of the stage and _not_ look as though he was scrambling to get away from the drunk girls that managed to snag his tie and get his belt loose from the loop. His footing was rocky and he teetered, doing well to keep a cheeky smirk in place during the whole thing.

Blaise reached out and tugged the man on stage before he fell into the waiting arms of his entourage, never once faltering his bassline.

" _ **Stacy's mom has go—t it goin' on—"**_

Abraxas slapped a five into Marcus' waiting palm with a scowl tugging at his features.

 _ **"Stacy's mom has go—t it goin' on—"**_

 **. . . . .**

Hermione was running.

She was taking every shortcut she knew of to run from the coffee shop to this stupid pub.

She had never been much of one for pubs, preferring to get pissed in the comforts of her own home rather than having to go out and pay to do it.

Seeing as how she'd had neither a 'home' nor disposable income to use for such activities for quite some time, however, it was not surprising that she only had an inkling of where the bloody place was.

It was supposedly only a few blocks down the road!

Something about a turn here.

Or was it _there_?

Fuck.

 **. . . . .**

"Sorry Miss. It's a ten dollar cover. And you can't take those inside."

Hermione huffed and cradled her tray of iced coffees protectively against her bosom. "Ten dollars? I don't have ten dollars!"

The man – who had to have been at least three feet wide at the shoulder if Hermione were to guess – shrugged those massive traps and made a motion to wave in the couple standing behind her. She bristled and stepped in front of them, not yet finished with the big brute.

"Hey now! I'm not done here!"

"You got ten bucks?"

"Well…no—"

"Then we're done here."

Hermione loosed an indignant squawk and stammered words that she never thought she'd ever actually have to say. "But…uh…I'm with the band."

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, you and everyone else."

Her temper was starting to simmer and Hermione wasn't entirely sure how much longer she would be able to keep it under wraps. She fixed the bouncer with a glare and ran her tongue across her teeth. "You _can't_ keep me out," she insisted, weathering his raised eyebrow rather stoically. "Riddle is expecting me!"

"Right. An' who're you?" He nodded at the drinks she was still hugging. "His caterer?"

Hermione felt the urge to crack her knuckles…followed by the urge to crack her knuckles on someone's _face_. She sucked on the inside of her cheek but let it go. "I _happen_ to be his girlfriend!" she bluffed.

That gave the man pause for all of two seconds before he huffed out a loud laugh. "Yeah," he said again, "'cause I haven't heard _**that**_ one before!"

She scrunched her face in disbelief.

 _Other girls actually willingly tagged themselves as that wanker's girlfriend?_

"Look, lady, sorry but if you ain't got ten bucks, you ain't getting' in."

Hermione's scowl intensified and she rolled her shoulders and sucked her teeth.

The man raised both brows in amusement at the look on her face and she simply smiled back…

 **. . . . .**

" _ **Sucking too hard on your lollipop! Oh, love's gonna get you down. Sucking too hard on your lollipop! Oh, love's gonna get you down."**_

" _ **Say love!"**_

" _ **Say love!"**_

" _ **Oh, love's gonna get you down!"**_

Hermione smoothed her now drinkless hands back over her frizzed hair, still glaring in the general direction of the bouncer – pubs with bouncers, that was just _silly_ – and now with nothing to show for the boys. She'd been reluctant to even come tonight, not actually being very good with 'socializing', but Blaise had made it seem more than a little intriguing with the way he'd described their performances. The later it had gotten in the day and the closer to the end of her shift, the more and more she'd found herself actually getting excited to go.

She was huffing and puffing a bit still at _not_ actually being able to get in free like Tom had said she would, but she'd hassle him about that later. Right then, she was worrying that she'd missed them completely. Her eyes were scanning over the crowd of the stupidly packed bar, noting the cluster of young men and women – also all college age – hovering around the stage doing some sort of bumpy grindy sad excuse for dancing, dance.

Hermione frowned and was being jostled by the press of bodies and was about to start cutting a swathe through the masses so she could at least _see_ if they were still up there, when a familiar voice came vibrating out of the mounted speakers on the walls.

" _ **Thank you! Thank you all for coming out tonight! We've got one more quick one before we leave the stage tonight! If you enjoyed yourselves this evening, please be sure to look for us at the back! CDs are available and, as always, the bucket is on the bar. Once again, we are Rebellious Phrase and we thank you for coming out!"**_

Hermione blinked, mouth falling open in a little ' _o'._ She was fairly certain that that was the first time since meeting the man that she'd ever heard him say 'thank you'. And he said it _**THREE TIMES**_!

 _Surely, she'd died._

A familiar set of voices rang out in an upbeat sort of chorus.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **I make them good girls go bad!**_

' _**~ '**_

The smell of sweat and booze filled her nostrils and made her scrunch her nose. Hermione made a funny set of disgruntled noises as she kept trying to squeeze her way through the press of bodies and see while not flipping a table onto some drunkard's head to get them to _move-out-the-fuckin'-way!_

Normally, she didn't mind being short but times like this, it was less than optimal.

She started making her way through the crowd where she could, trying to find a better vantage point so she could actually _watch_ her boys perform.

 _ **. ~ .  
I make them good girls go—**_

' _**~ '**_

When she was finally able to get to one side of the room – _stage left_ – and clamber up on to stand on the seat of a rickety and worn wooden stool, Hermione's mouth dropped open for a second time that evening.

This time, it was for a very different reason.

 _ **. ~ .  
Good girls go bad!**_

' _**~ '**_

It was funny how she'd seen these same young men singing and dancing in the comforts of their own home, half of them in their nightclothes or… _half_ in their nightclothes waiting still for that oil and the command from God to wrassle in a kiddie pool full of it, and she'd been _mostly_ unaffected.

Now, though, with them up there, elevated above the crowd who was bouncing and pissed out of their gourds, she really couldn't keep her eyes off of them.

It was a touch more than an impolite stare.

And by 'a touch', she meant, she was staring with blatant fascination.

" _ **I know your type—"**_

" _Your type!"_

Their lead vocalist, Tom Riddle, was center stage, clad in dark cords with equally dark suspenders shrugged off and knocking against the sides of his thighs as he danced about. His Oxford had started out neatly pressed, she was sure, but was now unbuttoned to the middle of his chest and spread open to allow for a nice little gander at what lay beneath. What was actually remaining and covering him looked decidedly rumpled and sweat ridden.

" _ **You're daddy's lil' girl."**_

The material had become nearly translucent in places, but mostly around his abdomen where the thin cotton had decided it would be a brilliant idea to cling to every single one of his too many mounds and valleys of muscle.

" _ **Just take a bite!"**_ Tom's pearly white teeth gnashed playfully at one of the audience members draping themselves over the stage and the girl yelped and giggled before scooting off of it.

" _One bite!"_

His clingy, sweaty, rumply shirt even dipped into those little crevices between the outside of his abs and the insides of his pelvic bone.

What had Blaise said those were?

 _Oh yes. An Adonis belt._

" _ **Let me shake up your world."**_ He slid a hand over his chest and ended up spreading the sweat there around so what showed of the smooth skin under his Oxford was even more shiny and glistening.

Her tongue came out to whet her lips...because the air was stifling.

Not because of the way his muscles strained at his shirt or the gorgeous way the patterns of blacks and grays wove fluidly around his exposed forearms and were just _so DARK_ against the stark white of it...but because-the-air-was-stifling.

His hips swiveled suggestively along to the energized pop notes his mates were singing into their microphones.

Hermione blew out a long, slow breath that nearly turned into a whistle of appreciation at all that… _stifling air._

" _ **But just**_ _ **one**_ _ **night couldn't be so wrong! I'm gonna make you lose contro—l!"**_ His sung words rubbed along the skin like a nice, warm, fuzzy blanket and his fingers danced over every individual dip of his stomach, lingering at the ones right at his trouser waistband.

 _Adonis belt indeed…_

Marcus snatched up the mic that he and Abraxas had been sharing up until then and tossed his hair flippantly. He pushed a pair of invisible glasses up the bridge of his nose and pointed defiantly at Tom before singing out in that octave that Hermione would have never have pegged him for upon meeting him. _**"I know your type!"**_

" _Your type!"_

Marc, held a halting hand out to Tom's face. _**"Boy, you're dangerous!"**_

Tom flashed the most charming smile Hermione had ever seen on the man's face towards his audience, giving them a sly wink. It made something low in her stomach wriggle and tingle.

" _ **Yeah, you're that guy—"**_

" _That guy!"_

"— _ **I'd be stupid to trust!"**_

" _ **But just one night couldn't be so wrong!"**_ The big man put the back of a hand to his forehead in a woeful gesture of surrender then tossed those invisible glasses aside deviously and shook out his short, short hair. _ **"You make me want to lose contro—l!"**_

" _ **She was so-o shy! 'Til I dro—ve her wild!"**_ Tom took Marcus' hand in his and brought it near his lips, tugged him close, then spun him out of his arms, the man loosening his tie and tossing it to the crowd. _ **"I make them good girls go bad! I make them good girls go—"**_

" _Good girls go bad—"_

" **Bad!"**

Hermione laughed at their display. She'd quickly learned that Abraxas, Marcus, and Blaise – especially Blaise – had a penchant for being a bit goofy, but she never even imagined Tom could be anything but the ever so serious and scowling individual that always greeted her with his standard harrumphs.

The boys were split up on stage, Tom, Regulus, and Blaise on one side, Abraxas and Marcus on the other, and they were clapping and stomping out her favorite part of this particular song.

Abraxas and Marcus clapped out the beat while the others shouted, _**"Ohhhh—! She got a way with them boys in the place, treat 'em like they don't stand a chance!"**_

And, to her delight, the boys switched with the other two doing their best falsetto impression of ladies in the club. _"And he got a way with them girls in the back actin' like they too hot to dance!"_

" _ **Yeah she got a way with them boys in the place, treat 'em like they don't stand a chance!"**_

" _And he got a way with them girls in the back actin' like they too hot to dance!"_

Tom turned that devil's grin to the crowd once more. _**"I make them good girls go bad! I make them good girls go—"**_

" _What?"_

" _ **Good girls go ba—d!"**_

" _Bad."_

The audience burst into a loud set of applause after the final whispered word of the song.

Tom's little fanclub was cheering.

That same group of gentlemen from the start were chanting their _R-A-B_ beatboxing praise – albeit in a much more inebriated fashion than an hour or so ago.

But there was one sharp, overly loud whistle followed by a _"Yeah! GET IT, RICKLE!"_ that turned Tom's head.

His vision was spotty from the stage lights and there was certainly a good bit of sweat dripping into his eyes, but he was positive of who that tiny figure was with her big, frizzy mane, barely contained behind her as she stood on a table to his right, clapping and grinning and waving.

 _Hermione._

The boys were taking their bows, slapping some hands that were reaching up past the edge of the stage, and making their way down the small staircase to its side.

There were whistles and more yells of drunken enjoyment and the like, but Tom's stare was glued to the girl.

She was still grinning – no, she was full on smiling – at _him_.

She was something that didn't really belong in a bar-slash-club.

She was fresh from work in her dreary, coffee and syrup darkened clothes.

 _She'd actually come to see them._

He caught her eyes and felt the corners of his mouth pulling up in a smile and watched as her expression brightened with his.

And before he knew it, he was walking across the stage to hop off and retrieve her from her perch.

* * *

 **A/N:** This story kills me. It really does.


	15. Chapter 15

**Aca-Playlist:** Before He Cheats by Carrie Underwood **  
**

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 15**

Hermione leaned back against the bar, cradling a beer bottle between both of her hands and eyed Tom who was waiting for his own order next to her. The boys had greeted her and already dispersed, Abraxas disappearing off somewhere with some short haired girl who had some fabulous eye makeup, and Blaise had ushered the rest of them away with a surreptitious wink at the pair of them.

Tom ran a hand back through his hair, skin shining still with sweat and when he caught her looking at him, he quickly diverted his gaze again.

It wasn't until he'd gotten a beverage of his own – a Fresca, of course – and taken to leaning against the bar next to her that he spoke. "You came." He'd proudly kept the pleased lilt out of his voice and had tempered it to sound much closer to his normal, mild tone.

She nodded, took a swig of her beer and swallowed. "I did. I almost missed it all thanks to the brutish bouncer at the door. He was a right piece of work, that one."

Tom grimaced. "Joe?" He straightened and the grimace turned into something a little different. "What did he do?"

"Tried to make me pay cover is what!" She huffed. "I even uttered the most pathetic words I'd never thought would pass my lips!"

He looked at her, brows raised.

"I told him I was with the _band!_ "

Her appalled expression caused him a moment's pause and then Tom laughed loudly.

"Don't laugh!" she said but her own grin was tugging at her lips as she teased. "It was sad. It's like we're back to the bloody nineties or something."

Tom chuckled, sipped his drink, and nodded at a tired looking group of girls that were occasionally sending some very withering glares towards the woman at his side. "I'll add you to the list of fangirls."

Hermione snorted indelicately. "Thanks, but no thanks." She shrugged and added, "If I had known you had your own little fan following, I wouldn't have tried the 'I'm his girlfriend' thing either."

Tom sputtered and choked, his Fresca dribbling past his lips in his surprise. He swiped a forearm across his mouth to clean himself up and eyed her cautiously. "Did you really-"

She waved him off, but could feel the blush creeping into her neck and cheeks. "Don't worry, Rickle. He believed that one way less than the truth…"

He frowned. "So, how did you end up getting in?"

The question riled her and she huffed immediately. "He took my drinks!""

"Your...drinks?"

"Yes! I brought you all some from work since I knew I was heading here! First he threw a tizzy about me having them at all – no outside food and drink, y'know – and then he was being a twat about letting me in. Since I couldn't take them with me, he accepted them as 'payment'…so to speak."

Tom was smirking through her animated explanation.

When she caught his amused look, Hermione huffed again, jutting out her chin and sniffing at him. "I hope you weren't craving perfectly made iced coffee."

He bit the inside of his cheek, doing his best to stifle the smile that kept working its way to the surface at her teasing. "As a matter of fact, I _was_ craving just that," he drawled. "Perhaps it's fortuitous that Joe confiscated them all from you, however, seeing as if I'd tasted the swill you brought with you, I would have been sorely disappointed."

The offended noise that escaped her was high pitched and squeaky and Tom couldn't hold in his snickers at her expense.

Hermione sputtered indignantly but couldn't take her eyes off of the way his own crinkled at the edges when he looked at her, waiting for her response. It had been quite some time since she'd actually met someone she could banter with like this… _quite_ some time.

She stuck her tongue out at him and grumped. "You're a right bastard, Rickle. Has anyone ever told you that?"

Tom took a sip of his drink and replied seriously with a small nod. "It's come up once or twice."

It surprised a laugh out of her and she shook her head and sighed.

He found himself watching her, watching the way she was leaned against the counter behind them with her body just so slightly turned towards his. Every few seconds, she looked like she might be about to say something or appeared that there was a series of intense thoughts fluttering through that smartassed noggin of hers then she decided to drown them in her beer rather than indulge and share.

When Tom realized he was staring, he rubbed the back of his neck, cleared his throat, and finally said, "Hey, Granger—"

"Mm?" She replied without looking, her dark eyes focused _really_ hard on a tile several paces away.

"I'm...sorry about that..."

Hermione turned to look at him, interest clear on her face.

There was also a dusting of pink over the top of her cheeks and nose that seemed to highlight the sparse smattering of freckles there that Tom couldn't peel his attention away from. Her head tilted curiously and he understood that his train of thought had sputtered off into nothingness for a moment. Tom cleared his throat again and rushed out the rest of a sentence that wasn't at all what he _meant_ to say. "The door thing," he said lamely, "I was sure I'd told him to expect you but—"

Her hopeful expression faltered but she shrugged it off, shooting him a lopsided grin as if whatever it was that'd just happened, hadn't happened at all. "Hey, don't worry about it. He looked like the kind of bloke that's taken one too many blows to the head over the years anyway. There's no telling if you did or didn't. He likely wouldn't even remember if you _had_."

Tom smirked at that and another _really_ fucking awkward silence stretched between them.

They both stared forward, both leaning, both merely inches away from touching at the elbows, and both of them _acutely_ aware of this fact.

The stage was being set up for open mic karaoke and in the transition, the background noise within the bar grew uncomfortably louder.

Hermione shifted next to him, took another sip of her drink and said, "You were good."

Tom's eyes darted back to her housing question in them.

"A-all of you were good, I mean," she amended quickly with a darkening flush to her cheeks. "You have a…a great harmony really…a good tone… And Marcus? Bloody hell, is he a _countertenor_? Almost, right? That's crazy…you wouldn't think it to look at the man—"

His brow creased as she continued to stumble over her words. The way she offered compliments using very _specific_ terms…terms most people wouldn't know unless they… "You sing?"

Hermione blinked back up at him, eyes huge, and answered far too quickly, "No!" She amended more calmly – too calmly, "I don't. I mean. No, I just—"

" _Tom! There you are, mate!"_

If possible, the whites of Hermione's eyes became even more visible in that moment.

 _Dear Lord…in the name of all that was holy…_

Hermione watched Tom's attention refocus forward once more and she caught the turn of his lips before he could morph it into something more polite. She very discreetly tried to sneak away while he was distracted.

"Malfoy," Tom said, pushing off from the bar and switching his bottle to his other hand so he could greet the man properly. "Thought you weren't coming in until tomorrow."

"That _was_ the plan originally but I opted to be _spontaneous_. So…here I am!"

"Brilliant." Tom forced a smile and started to turn towards the girl at his side. "Draco Malfoy, this is my flatmate—"

" _Hermione?"_

She froze, her back towards the two men and her spine stiff and straight having not made it nearly far enough away before she was caught. Slowly, painfully, Hermione turned back around and met Tom's eyes first – the look he was giving her could generously be described as an intense level of confusion for what she could only assume was a _multitude_ of reasons. She gave him a tight, nearly pained smile, and shifted her gaze to that of her ex-boyfriend: Draco Malfoy.

" _Hermione Granger?_ Is that _YOU_?" Draco asked in plain astonishment, all but forgetting about Riddle to approach the small woman instead. "Well, well, well. So _this_ is where you disappeared to."

Hermione loosed a forced chuckle. "Yup! It's me. Here I am!" She held her arms out in a sweeping gesture and let them flop back down to smack against her sides. Everything about her posture was stiff and tense and entirely too uncomfortable all at once. "Well, it was great seeing you again Draco, but I've really got to—"

"No, no, no, wait just a tic! You can't leave now! Hermione, it's been ages!"

She sucked her teeth for a second before shaking her head. "Yeah, really only a few years."

"Well it's _felt_ like ages."

Draco moved in closer to her, his hand reaching towards her cheek and she did well not to blatantly jerk away and just deflected it with a poorly angled hand hold. If she had the second to spare to observe, she would have seen Tom begin to step forward but apparently think better of it and instead just stand oddly in the background to the couple's reunion with a strange tension in his shoulders.

"What are you actually doing… _here_ , Draco? In...LA. A very, very far distance away from where you _live._ " Hermione asked somewhat politely while repositioning herself to increase her personal space bubble and rotate around the blond to come back closer to her flatmate. She looked at Tom with that same tight smile that had appeared on her face since the arrival of the other man. "I didn't know you knew each other."

"Yes, well, there's apparently a whole mess of things we don't actually know about one another," Tom replied sharply, his tone much colder than it'd been minutes before. It earned him an odd look from Hermione that he didn't acknowledge with anything more than a pointed sip of his drink.

"Abraxas is my cousin," Draco said.

"Ah. Of course he is."

 _That should have been obvious. How many pale, pointy Englishmen could there_ _ **REALLY**_ _be that were nearly so beautiful it hurt?_

Hermione was mentally kicking herself for never having mustered the courage to ask outright about her suspicion that the two might at least _know_ each other if not be related. She'd been afraid of this…afraid of this outcome.

"He neglected to mention you in our last conversation," Draco said, eying her appreciatively.

"Well," Hermione smiled in that way one practiced in the art of retail sales does, and waved a hand dismissively, "I am a _very_ new addition to the cool kids club so it likely just slipped his mind, I'm sure."

"More like he's aiming for you for himself and didn't want me to know that my perfect woman waltzed right into his home."

Tom's hand tightened on his Fresca.

At that, Hermione snorted and her polite visage was replaced by something much, much less friendly. "' _Perfect woman_ ', eh? Last I checked – which was, coincidentally, about a few years ago right before we stopped shagging – your perfect woman was apparently stupid, leggy, and blond with a fanny the size of an airplane hangar."

Draco's charming smile dropped immediately and he looked over at Tom who had been listening intently, only to quickly take another drink of his beverage as if he hadn't just heard Hermione call out some other woman as a whore.

"Excuse us a moment."

Tom nodded and watched as Malfoy coaxed Hermione – who rolled her eyes _quite_ dramatically – off several paces away to a quieter portion of the bar to speak to her.

"Mm mm _mm_."

Tom didn't need to look to know it was Blaise at his side. He heard the man take a loud gulp of his booze and saw a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye while his gaze was seemingly locked onto the couple conversing. "Do you not have _anything_ better to do?" Tom groused.

"Something better than watching the drama unfold? Not particularly. You _are_ the DD though and the night is still young so I suppose I could just get utterly trashed instead and have you carry me home."

"If you can't make it to the car on your own, you're sleeping it off or stumbling home by yourself. You know the rules."

"Yeah, yeah." Blaise waved him off and took a drink. "What's all that about?"

Tom grimaced. "Not terribly sure."

Blaise watched Tom watching Hermione for several seconds before he nudged the man lightly. "You going to go do something about it?"

"What?" Tom asked sharply and jerked more upright. He shifted on his feet from one to the other until he looked like something resembling 'casually comfortable' against the bar. "No, of course not. That-" He pointed. "-is none of _my_ bloody business."

"Mm," Blaise hummed with an unconvinced tone. "Right. The truth will set you free, Tom Riddle."

Another several moments passed and Blaise followed Tom's line of sight as his grimace grew more prominent only to see their flatmate smiling and chuckling with what was quite possibly the world's largest asshole. He watched Tom's tattooed knuckles start to turn white around the bottle when the couple leaned in for a hug and her arms snaked around the blond beneath his rather posh looking leather jacket. When her hands went so far as to dance over the man's rear, Blaise was convinced he heard the audible snap of Tom's temper.

Blaise leaned in and clapped a hand on Tom's shoulder, whispering in his ear. "You might want to stop staring so hard at them then."

Tom startled, having forgotten Blaise was even there for a minute and then he downed the rest of his beverage with a scowl. Turning his back on Abraxas' idiot cousin and his stupid frizzy haired not-girlfriend, he demanded another.

"Small, _small_ world, isn't it?"

He resisted looking at Draco again knowing the glower on his face was much less than friendly. "Yeah, really, fancy that." When Draco put in his order and Tom didn't hear any smart remark from Hermione, he did finally glance around.

"Where's Granger?" This from Blaise.

"Went to powder her nose and all that." Draco waved dismissively and changed the subject, motioning to the heavily inebriated girl getting set up on the mic to sing along to the bouncing ball on the karaoke screen. "Judging from the imbibing of alcohol, I take it I already missed your set?"

Tom grunted.

"You wouldn't be wrong," Blaise singsonged but changed the subject _back_ , "You know her?"

 _. ~ ._

 _Right now, he's probably slow dancing with a bleached-blonde tramp and she's probably getting frisky!_

' _~ '_

Draco smirked and gave the other man a little waggle of his brows. " _Biblically._ "

"She never mentioned you," Tom commented harshly.

His snark appeared to surprise all three of them.

 _. ~ ._

 _Right now, he's probably buying her some fruity little drink 'cause she can't shoot whiskey!  
_ ' ~ '

Draco shrugged. "We didn't part ways on the best of terms. How is it that you have managed to shack up with the Queen Bitch now, anyway?"

Blaise stiffened and Tom looked up from his new drink, eyes dark. "Sorry, what?" _Shack up. He thought they were dating? And he still hit on her…_

 _. ~ ._

 _Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool-stick showing her how to shoot a combo—_

' _~ '_

"Hermione. How did _that_ happen? More importantly, how do you stand living with the siren?"

Tom straightened pulling a good few inches over Draco, looming a bit. "She's _just_ my flatmate."

"Ah." He grinned. "Dodged a bullet with that one then, mate."

 _. ~ .  
And he don't kno—w_

' _~ '_

Tom had abandoned his drink at this point and was staring – _hard_ – down at Draco who seemed to be much more interested in the girl drunkenly swaying along to her little song up on stage, even going so far as to catch her eye who, in turn, sent him a playful wink.

 _. ~ ._

 _I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive!  
Carved my name into his leather seat!  
I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights, slashed a hole in all four tires!  
Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats—_  
 _' ~ '_

"Why do you say that?"

Draco was too preoccupied to notice the dangerous note that'd entered Tom's words. "I'm going to take a wild leap and guess that you don't really date much, Tom."

 _. ~ ._

 _Right now, she's probably up singing some white-trash version of Shania karaoke._

' _~ '_

"You wouldn't be wrong about that either," Blaise piped up. He was inching towards a new interest and amusement in the budding conflict unfolding before him.

"As birds go, she's really the worst kind."

" _ **SHE**_ is?" Tom repeated disbelievingly, sneering at the man. " _Hermione Granger_ is? And how do you figure?"

 _. ~ ._

 _Right now, she's probably saying "I'm drunk" and he's thinking that he's gonna get lucky.  
' ~ '_

A wide grin spread across Blaise's face as he spectated. It was _so_ much better than reality television. If he were a betting man, he would have put money on someone being punched out at _any_ moment. He wasn't, but he still expected it at any rate – nobody really cared much for Abraxas' cousin anyhow.

"Well, you've thankfully only seen her in a flatmate setting. When you're _WITH_ her though?" Draco gave a dramatic shudder and went right into waving at the girl on stage. "Hell, it's _awful._ "

 _. ~ ._

 _Right now, he's probably dabbing on three dollars' worth of that bathroom Polo—!  
' ~ '_

The expression on Tom's face was really priceless.

Blaise slurped noisily from a straw he'd plunked into his whisky sour and studied the intense way that Tom's lips were curled and his teeth were bared and grinding together. The man's shoulders were back, chest puffed out, and the best part was that he hadn't even _realized_ he was doing it.

 _. ~ ._

 _Oh and he don't kno—w! Oh—!_

' _~ '_

"Why Draco, whatever do you mean?" Prompted Blaise with delinquent delight.

Draco snorted. "She never wants to do anything fun. Just likes to sit about. _Reading._ Or _talking._ " He rolled his eyes. "She'd rather lay around in the sun or under a tree and just lie next to you doing positively _nothing_ than take a nice evening out to the cinema and snog in the dark! She's absolutely barmy!"

Blaise was grinning at the way the vein on the side of Tom's head had started to pump angrily.

"She's going to school for Library Science, you know!"

"I _do_ , actually." The words came gruffly from grit teeth.

"I mean, who _DOES_ that? She acts as though we're not moving into the technological age and all these bloody libraries won't be completely insignificant or obsolete in a handful of years. Ridiculous, I tell you! She had such a promising career track when I met her."

 _. ~ ._

 _That I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive!  
Carved my name into his leather sea—t!_

' _~ '_

Blaise heard Tom's knuckles crack with the tightening of his fists. With his eyes still on his friend, he remarked, "It's not, really. It's actually still a very viable program. Anywhere that requires the use of massive cataloguing systems might look to employ someone that has a specialty in—"

"Oh sod off," Draco interrupted with another dismissive wave. "Now you sound just like her. You know what _was_ amazing about dating her, though?" he asked wistfully.

Tom's arms twitched like he were seconds away from throttling the man and Blaise, almost giddily, asked, _"What?"_

"Kinky. As. _Fuck._ "

"The _**FUCK**_ did you just say?" Tom snarled.

 _. ~ ._

 _I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights!  
Slashed a hole in all four tires!  
Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats!_

' _~ '_

"Yeah, I know, right? She doesn't look it, but she's bloody a- _maze-_ ing beneath the sheets! Shite, she was a goddess in bed. I never knew I could—"

Tom had turned an interesting shade of red by this point and the game had gone from fun to _dangerous_ in a manner of moments.

He shouldn't have egged it on even to this point, but Blaise had never seen Tom act in such a way – certainly not towards any girl.

He sighed inwardly – _oh, young love._

Still…

"Malfoy, you should stop."

 _. ~ ._

 _I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl!  
'Cause the next time that he chea—ts…  
Oh, you know it won't be on me…  
No, ohhhh…  
Not on me..._

' _~ '_

"TMI, I know, sorry," Draco chuckled and took a swig of his beer. "I just get caught up thinking on it." He shivered. "Bloody fucking _hell_ it was worth it."

Tom's tattooed arm was quickly coming into view, his hand open and ready to reach for the blond man's lapels when the pub's back door slammed open and a familiar voice flooded the room.

" _ **'Cause I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped up four wheel drive—!"**_

Hermione's thick, sultry words reached the bar's patrons and several heads turned sharply.

The girl on stage stopped singing and even Tom paused mid-grasp for Draco's coat to look to his side and find the source of that dangerous voice.

The raw intensity behind her every word carried out above the noisy din of the bar, crisp and clear.

The ferocity in her step and confidence in her stride made the three of them in their group at the bar stand straight and at attention, not to mention the prominent set of chills down that swept down Tom's arms and prickled the inked flesh.

Her chocolate eyes were lit with an enraged fire that Tom had only seen glints of during some of their first verbal spars; he could almost feel the heat of it from where he stood.

And that very stare was zeroed in on the one…

…the only…

 _-Draco Malfoy._

" _ **Carved my name into his leather seats—"**_ Hermione's top lip curled off her teeth and she gave him what could only be described as an evil, _wicked_ smile.

Draco was staring at the petite woman sauntering towards them – towards him – with wide eyes and a growing sense of dread.

He had been, at first, confused as to why she'd come in from the bar's back door and not the bathroom as he'd expected.

That confusion swiftly dissipated, however, when she held up an object that looked suspiciously like his diamond studded Lamborghini key fob in one delicate little hand.

And then she laughed.

Draco's hands flew to his back pockets and found them woefully empty.

 _And Draco Malfoy's skin grew three shades paler that day…_ Blaise thought merrily, sipping his liquor.

Hermione sneered and chucked it at the man only to have it hit his chest in a fumbled catch.

She spread her arms out wide at her sides and snarled.

" _ **I took a Louisville slugger to BOTH headlights! Slashed a hole in ALL four tires! Maybe next time he'll think before he cheats—!"**_

Hermione stopped still several paces away, glanced to the side of her ex – who was looking extremely ill all of a sudden – and colored notably at the way Tom was looking at her with his jaw hanging open in pure astonishment.

The anger and rage at having seen her prick of an ex- melted off of her when she realized where she was and who exactly was there watching her.

Her gaze shifted to the side and she cursed in embarrassment, turning on her heel and full on _running_ out of the bar.

"Granger!" Tom found his voice somewhere between her pivoting _toward_ the exit and actually being _gone._ "Shite—Granger, wait!"

Blaise watched Tom run after Hermione and took another loud slurp of his booze. "Well, that's just adorable."

"WHERE did she go?"

He blinked and found a familiar face pressing in on him all of a sudden.

 _Ah._

 _Pansy._

"Where's Abraxas?" He ignored her question for one of his own.

"He's getting cleaned up in the bathroom. Now _WHERE_ -did-she- _GO?_ "

"Out?"

"Where is she _heading_ , Zabini?!" Pansy demanded with a stomp of her foot.

Blaise blinked again. "I've no clue."

Pansy scoffed and shoved the now nearly sobbing Draco aside, nudging him until he was left leaning on the counter in shock while staring at his shiny fob. "I HAVE to find her!"

"Well. She's our roommate. I _suppose_ I can give her a message."

The girl brightened as if someone had just flipped on the sun. She reached past Blaise and snatched up a bar napkin, patting around her pockets until she found one of her nubby makeup pencils and scribbled out her name and number onto it. Thrusting it into Blaise's hands, she gave him a _so_ serious look. "Have her call me. A-S-A-P. Got it?"

Blaise eyed the napkin. _'CALL ME! A-S-A-P!'_ "I _know_ your phone number, Pans—"

"HAVE HER CALL ME!"

"Uh…yeah, sure. Okay."

Pansy let out a relieved noise and ran back over to a corner of the room where a black haired man and a wavy haired blond woman sat together, both looking equally uninterested at the going-ons of their surroundings. She immediately started chattering at the only male in their party with many – far too animated – gestures.

"Did you hear her, Theo?!" Pansy flailed. "She's exactly what we've been looking for! She's our a cappella Cinderella!"

* * *

 **A/N:** For those of you that will/have asked, Draco is not the ex-boyfriend who was sodomized with a pipe and bludgeoned with it. You may or may not see that individual in the greater scheme of things. It would be very aca-awkward if you do.


	16. Chapter 16

**Aca-Playlist:** 21 Guns by Green Day (American Idiot Musical Version) **  
**

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 16**

"Bloody stupid…" Hermione was grumbling to herself and swiping at her eyes, trying to head off any moisture before it had a chance to gather in the corners of them. "…fucking Malfoy…god-fucking- _dammit_!"

She'd ran as far as she could from the bar in whatever direction it was that was _**away**_ and found herself somewhere between the recycling plant and Tom's house – _her_ house too, she thought. She paid rent, dammit.

Currently, she was picking a careful path on the top of a retaining wall overlooking a small body of water that she wasn't entirely sure _what_ to define as...whatever it was, it looked _questionable._

Hermione hesitated when she realized where she'd landed herself and found that she wasn't at all sure of where she wanted to go. She could head back to the house, but with Malfoy in town and being Abraxas' cousin, she wasn't sure if she was going to be seeing the git again that evening or not.

The longer she could go _existing_ without seeing that son of a bitch, the better.

She was conflicted.

And so she sighed, kicking at the tiny rocks that'd somehow ended up on top of the wall, wondering how they even got up there and not realizing for a long while that she was humming and singing softly under her breath. As soon as she noticed it, she groaned and tossed her arms up in the air.

"Bugger this shit," she muttered. "He _has_ to be a singer, doesn't he? It's like it follows me…wherever I bloody go…"

Hermione continued shuffling along the cement barrier, stifling herself every time she realized what she was humming until she finally growled and shouted out into the night sky as if there were some karmic beast laughing down at her. _"FINE!_ "

Nobody was around and it always _had_ made her feel better when she was growing up…

 _What the hell, right?_

 **. . . . .**

Tom huffed and turned circles when he reached the end of the alleyway.

He was _SURE_ he'd seen her come this way, heard her frantic footfalls on the cobbles.

Snarling to himself, Tom ran a hand back through his hair in frustration, little chunks of his gelled locks finally finding some freedom and squirreling free in all sorts of directions at the move.

 _Where the fuck would she go? She doesn't have anywhere else BUT the house now._

That thought struck him. _**Hard.**_

It made the back of his tongue dry out and a sour taste bubble up from his gut.

He supposed he should check there…he just couldn't think of anywhere else that—

" _ **Do you know what's worth fighting for…"**_

Tom stopped in his tracks, not entirely sure he heard what he thought he had.

If it was what he thought it was, though...

" _ **When it's not worth dying for…"**_

…it was fucking beautiful.

A shiver ran through him.

She was there.

 _Right there._

It was Hermione…

…and she was singing.

Like a dark Angel dancing through the stars, he just couldn't take his eyes off of her.

" _ **Does it take your breath away and you feel yourself suffocating?"**_

 _Yes…it does. I do._

He watched her, entranced, throat dry and eyes wide.

She had her back to him and was taking slow, careful steps along the retaining wall as her soft, sweet melody drifted out into the night air.

" _ **Does the pain weigh out the price? And you look for a place to hide..."**_

Tom padded after her as silently as he could, finding he was stepping with her in time to the beat she kept so flawlessly. With every movement she made along the wall, he was tugged along by her Siren's song.

" _ **Did someone break your heart inside? …you're in ruins."**_

Hermione paused in her steps and turned towards the water. From his vantage point, Tom could see her tilt her head up to the sky, spotted the dried tracks of tears gleaming ever so slightly under the moonlight, and for a moment something in the pit of his stomach dropped and swirled and made all the horrible things that existed in the world pile onto his shoulders at the sight of it.

And then she smiled.

" _ **One, 21 guns, lay down your arms, give up the fight."**_

And the sweetest fucking sounds he'd ever heard sent a jarring shudder through him from head to toe and all he could do was bask in them.

Her foot had started a rhythmic tapping, one hand clenched into a fist that she held over her breast.

He could _hear_ the smile in her voice and his heart physically ached with every soft, serene, almost haunting note.

" _ **One, 21 guns, throw up your arms into the sky – you and I—"**_

Her eyes squinched more tightly shut, both hands folding over the center of her chest now as her octave dropped slightly to take on more power to each heartbreaking word.

" _ **When you're at the end of the road…"**_

He didn't even register that he was closing the distance.

" _ **And you've lost all sense of control…"**_

He didn't even think about the fact that he needed to be closer because he just fucking _did._

" _ **And your thoughts have taken their toll…"**_

Her eyes were still closed, feet firmly planted, and she reached a hand out towards the water.

" _ **When your mind breaks the spirit of your soul—"**_

She looked so natural up there somehow; on a stage, in front of an audience that existed only in her imagination, yet one that was burned into the back of his own lids.

" _ **Your faith walks on broken glass…"**_

She was so small; such a delicate stretch of woman that he was sure could send men to their knees with nothing but a sonnet.

" _ **And the hangover doesn't pass…"**_

Her arms were splayed out at her sides and her voice could have carried for miles.

" _ **Nothing's ever built to last! You're in ru—ins."**_

Beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.

She was so-fucking- _beautiful_ standing there, calling out to the night.

" _ **One, 21 guns, lay down your arms, give up the fight."**_

All of it was exactly why he had to get closer.

" _ **One, 21 guns, throw up your arms into the sky"**_

Tom swallowed, reached out a hand and, really, he just couldn't help the next words that escaped him.

Or how they harmonized with hers perfectly.

" _ **You and I…"**_

Hermione gasped and turned sharply at the new voice. She teetered, nearly toppled, but Tom was there, both hands reaching out to steady her atop the wall. Her fingers dug into his arms tightly enough that the spots not covered by ink paled under their pressure.

Tom saw her start to shut down, he saw it in her face. Her eyes were huge, her throat bobbed with nerves, and a deep flush spread across the tops of her cheeks. As quickly as he could, he shook his head and didn't dare speak above a whisper lest he shatter everything in that moment. "Don't stop," he urged, "please, don't stop..."

She gulped again and held his eyes, shaky, unsure and at a loss of how this sort of encounter was supposed to go. Hermione could feel the tears from before coupled with new tears of embarrassment pooling in the corners of her eyes. Making a decision, Hermione shut them tightly and spoke to him in this funny language that they both somehow understood.

" _Did you?"_ she breathed nervously.

" _ **Did you try to live on your own?"**_ And he met her every step of the way.

" _When you—"_ Her eyes cracked open at the smooth sound of _him_ that filled the air.

Tom felt his mouth tilting in a rather lopsided grin when she caught his stare once more. _**"When you burned down the house and home—"**_

Her response was a deeper blush and a smirk that colored her words. _"Did you stand too close to the fire?"_

Tom's grip on her forearms tightened and he watched her swell with more confidence. He was sure his heart flipped when her voice sang out and mingled with his own, " _ **Like a liar looking for forgiveness—"**_

He tugged her towards him with the same smile that had greeted her at the end of his set earlier that evening and she let herself fall into his arms and off the wall. Tom caught her with ease, shifting his hold to her waist once she came into reach and gave her half a spin before setting her firmly on her feet.

He'd not actually realized how much shorter she was until he was smoothing errant curls from her cheek and the top of her head hadn't even truly cleared his shoulder.

Hermione's lids fluttered and she found herself leaning into the warm brush of his knuckles.

"… _ **from a stone….."**_ The last of her breathy words faded into the stillness of the cool night air.

When Hermione realized he was still holding her – rather closely for flatmates – she increased the distance between them as politely as possible.

Coaxing his hands back to his sides and immediately missing the warmth, Hermione asked quietly, "What are you doing here?"

"Came to keep you from running off," he replied coolly. Tom stifled the frown that was edging towards the surface and had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep them from twitching forward to fix that mane of hers again. He shrugged as it was became obvious that she was very willing to let the fact that something… _strange_ had just happened between them, drop like a cart full of lead weights. "Seeing as how I had to chase you, though, guess it didn't work."

She chuckled and it was awkward.

And vulnerable.

And he didn't like it.

"21 Guns?" he asked and watched her eyes flick up to look at him beneath her lashes – he found he was extremely _not_ willing to let it drop. "Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit dramatic?"

Hermione laughed softly, giving him a shrug. "I'll let mum and dad know the lessons paid off then."

"What was all that back there, Granger?"

She sighed and ran a hand over her temple, tucking the strand that kept taunting Tom back behind her ear. "I have been known to make poor decisions when I'm slightly inebriated."

"So…Malfoy?"

"If only _that_ one could be explained away so easily." Tom chuckled at her and it brought back the pleasant tingling warmth from before. "No, that one was just an unfortunate and sober decision."

The tight, strained silence that always seemed to roll in when they were left alone, pressed in with a vengeance.

Tom did his best to avoid it this time around.

"You can sing," he said in a way that was so obviously not a question anymore.

"Yeah," she sighed, defeated. "And dance and play a few instruments. I can do a lot of things. Got a whole little degree in musical theatre and all that rot."

Both brows jumped for his hairline. He was impressed, amazed and utterly confused all at once. "Is that why you're out here? Why you're—" Tom hesitated on the word 'homeless', choked it back down. "Did your parents kick you out because of it?"

Hermione blinked at him, wide eyed for a second then chortled, shattering the unpleasant mood that'd been creeping in. "FUCK no! Quite the opposite actually..."

"What?" He looked as puzzled as he felt. "So…your parents—"

"Very happily supplied all the funding I could have ever asked for to go to school for musical theatre." At his even more confused and completely _lost_ expression, Hermione laughed but sighed bitterly.

"It was THEIR idea. They're dentists and whatall. They grew up with the whole 'get a practical job' rubbish from their own parents and didn't want to force that upon their only daughter. So, instead, they went nutter in the _opposite_ direction. They LOVE the arts. They only ever wanted me to do something 'fun.'" Hermione scrunched up her nose distastefully. "Never mind that my idea of fun was reading and revising and being bloody _brilliant_ at maths. They actually kicked me out because I finally stood up for myself and told them I wanted to be a LIBRARIAN, not a headliner.

"'Well if THAT'S how you want to waste your life,' they said, 'we'll have no part in it!' And then they cut me off and kicked me out. Simple as that."

Tom stood, frozen with a largely disbelieving look on his face. It felt like ages before he thawed and looked the most disgruntled Hermione had ever seen him.

"That is the biggest pile of—what, are your parents from the bleedin' _Twilight Zone?_ Is it Freaky Fucking Friday? Did they switch places with every other parent in the universe to be entirely arse backwards?! That's such _horseshite!"_

Hermione blinked and the smile that crept onto her face felt ghastly and inappropriate in the face of his animated, angry expressions. She averted her eyes and laughed softly. "Yeah, well…what can you really do, right?"

Tom huffed – _he_ _ **huffed**_ – and Hermione almost snorted at the sound just on principle. He was quiet again for a while but when she looked up, one of his hands had come free from his pocket and was reaching again. The look on his face was kinder and more open than she had been prepared to deal with from anyone, much less Tom Riddle.

"Well…anyway…you were very good..."

Hermione exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding onto until his fingertips were oh so lightly trailing over her cheek.

He was just so damn warm she could've died. _**Right**_ there.

"Thank you." It was hardly a whisper and she could have sworn he was warmer…or…getting warmer…or closer… _definitely_ closer.

Tom's eyes darted down to her slightly parted mouth and he felt his dry out. "Hermione—"

Whatever Tom had been meaning to say was interrupted by a loud _whoop whoop_ of a siren and the street they'd been walking on was flooded with flashing blue and white lights.

The two of them broke apart in shock, turning towards the source of the noise to see who the fuck had interrupted… _whatever_ the hell kept trying to happen.

Hermione had to hold an arm up to block out the brunt of the light, but managed to squint around it and noticed the number on the side of the squad car; she groaned.

"Wonderful." With an almost regretful look at Tom, Hermione sighed, turned on the balls of her feet and held both of her hands up in clear visibility at the sides of her head. Glancing at him, she said, "You should probably head home, Tom. I'll be back in…well 72 hours if I'm lucky."

His face twisted in confusion. "What do you—"

"Miss Granger," a distinctly Scottish brogue called out. "Fancy meeting you out here this evening."

"Officer Moody," Hermione chirped with a forced smile. "Good to see you again. How's the family?"

The officer, who really resembled more of a gnarled tree trunk with an eyepatch than anything else, let out a low, grating sigh. "Good. They're good." He spoke with one hand at his belt hovering over the butt of his gun and the other reaching back for his handcuffs. Moody nodded towards Tom. "You'll want to move away from her, son."

"But—"

Hermione shrugged and gave Tom a reassuring smile. "Go on, I'll be fine. Oh, but if you can, see if you can get a copy of notes from my classes? My schedule's posted on a corkboard in my room. And um…cover for me at the shop if you can?" She turned back to the officer and was very careful not to move otherwise. "Charges?"

Moody grunted, took one of her wrists in his hand and tightened one end of the metal cuffs around it as he started to fit her in her shiny new bracelets. "Drunk in public. Vandalism. Verbal assault."

Hermione snorted at that. " _Verbal assault._ I _sang_. Last I checked I wasn't a tone deaf harpy."

Officer Moody shook his head and looked very much as if he were trying to stifle a chuckle. "You have the right to remain silent…"

Tom watched as the police officer finished cuffing her and moved her into his squad car, nodding to him before disappearing into the night with his flatmate in the back of his vehicle. Tom just stood there, dumbfounded, for several looooong minutes before another car pulled up with a man he sort of recognized with his completely sloshed friends all piled into the back seat.

The other dark haired man with very striking blue eyes rolled down the window. "Tom Riddle, right?"

He grimaced in the direction of the police station and then looked back to the car. "Who's asking?"

"Theodore Nott," the man said, extending his hand through the window in greeting.

Tom shook his hand, nodded, then leaned over to peer in at his slobbering drunk friends. "Might I ask why you have my idiots in the back of your vehicle, Theodore?"

"Public service," he said. "They were nearly into causing just as much of a ruckus as your lady friend and, in the interest of not allowing fellow _aca-bitches_ – as Pansy would say – to join her on the path to incarceration, I thought I'd get them home. This one—" Theodore pointed to Blaise who was resting his chin on the side of the driver's seat, making googly eyes at Tom and muttering 'so pretty' into the new man's shoulder while they conversed. "—however, wouldn't go anywhere without finding you first. So here we are." After a tic, he added, "We followed the flashing lights."

" _Tom, I've got Hermy—Herms…I've got Granger's backpack!"_

Tom narrowed his eyes at Blaise, proudly drooling on this Theodore bloke while hugging Hermione's overstuffed and broken backpack, then looked to Marcus and Abraxas who were giggling and intermittently smacking at each other and pretending that they _totally_ weren't doing just that.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be sorry. Just get in the car and tell me where I'm going before they wet the upholstery."

"Right."

* * *

 **A/N:** Ahhhh...aca-romance. So much drama. Oh the aca-feels.


	17. Chapter 17

**Warning:** Cockney accent. Not for the faint of heart.

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 17**

"One call, Miss Granger," Officer Moody limped along, coaxing her through the station. He removed the cuffs and guided her on a well-worn path with a hand hovering at her back. "Who'll it be?"

Hermione shuffled into the holding cell and flopped onto the filthy, worn cot bolted into the wall. "I'll pass."

Moody frowned as he slid the barred door into place with a resounding _clang._ "What about that boy you were—"

"How long's the sentence for vandalism, Moody?" Hermione asked as she stretched out on the cot, arms folded behind her head as she took to staring at the cracks in the ceiling and the cluster of cobwebs in the corners of her cell.

The man frowned. "Hermione-"

"To a _Lamborghini_ ," she clarified, knowing exactly how fiercely Malfoy was going to come after her for what she'd done. _It wasn't fair, really…after the way he…_ Hermione sighed and grimaced at having let her temper get the best of her again. "I just want to know what I'm looking at."

Officer Moody frowned, gnawed on the inside of his cheek a bit and shook his head at the sight of her sprawled in what had practically been her second home during her rougher nights on the streets. "One to three."

"Years?"

The man nodded.

"Right. Yeah…I'll pass. Best to not let the bloke get attached, yeah?"

Moody opened his mouth, wanting to say something to the contrary but eventually huffed out a disgruntled noise and nodded. "I'll see you in the mornin', Hermione."

Hermione turned her head to give him a smile before he took off. "Hey, give my best to the Missus."

"Aye…I will. G'night, Lass."

"Night Alastor."

 **. . . . .**

Draco Malfoy had not gone to stay with Tom and the others at their humble abode.

Draco Malfoy had also not gone to a hotel for the duration of his stay.

Draco Malfoy had his own posh loft in LA for his visits to his cousin.

Because of course he did; he was Draco Malfoy.

It was there that the loud and sharp knocks startled him awake.

With a groan, Draco rolled off of his luxuriously decorated water bed in just his shorts – a feat that was actually quite difficult for an individual that had consumed as much liquor as he had the night before. It took a bit of fandangling and his foot got caught in the sheets but he eventually made it, stumbling, to the front door.

Draco Malfoy was greeted by Tom Riddle.

Subsequently, Draco Malfoy's stomach felt suddenly hollow and his pulse stuttered.

Tom smiled at the man. "Morning. May I come in?"

The blond's lips parted in surprise, his already parched throat drying even more. "Y—" He coughed and had to swallow a few times before he could actually speak. "Yes Tom, of course."

Draco stepped aside to let the other man in and Tom slipped to the side of the doorway, shut the door behind himself, and went about locking and latching all the knobs and bolts on Draco's door very meticulously.

It was at that point that Draco Malfoy realized he was being greeted by Tom Riddle – _**alone.**_

"Wh-what can I help you with this morning, mate?"

Tom shoved his hands into his pockets and chewed on the edge of his bottom lip as he moved further into Draco's flat, looking around, admiring the furnishings. "Modeling pays well, eh?"

Draco gulped. "A bit," he replied, watching Tom remove the leather jacket he'd arrived in to hang it off the back of one of his breakfast stools along the bar - the entire thing framed a kitchen that was the size of Tom's living room. His gray eyes frantically took in the man's casual, comfortable dress, scanning the gym sweats and ratty old t-shirt.

Both black.

Both very easy to hide stains.

Tom nodded and sucked his teeth. He started to idly stretch his arms, tugging one across his chest first and then the other, moving next on to rolling his shoulders to loosen them up as well. "That's nice. Nice ter see you're doin' so well for yourself, Malfoy."

Draco's heart rate skyrocketed as he heard a tint of Tom's natural Cockney dialect fighting to slide into place on some of his words. "Y-yes, it's not bad at all," he managed to stutter, "I-i-is there anything I can do for you, Tom? Or did you just come to—"

He turned around again to face Draco, smiling, but those already dark eyes of his were darker, colder, like the icy depths of the arctic sea _._ "I'm going to need you to drop the charges."

" _What?"_ Draco squawked before he could even _begin_ to think better of it. His chest flushed a hot red, the color blooming quickly in his neck and face as he'd already started angry gesticulation. "That _**bitch**_ keyed my fucking car! She _destroyed_ my bleedin' wheels! I had to have my baby _**towed**_ —"

And Tom was there at once, _very close_ , to Draco, pressed chest to chest. Tom wasn't looking at him, but over the man's shoulder instead. His hands were in his pockets again but every line of his body had gone taut and it would have been clear to a blind man the implicit threat that lurked just beneath the surface.

"Sorry, _**wot'd**_ you say?"

Draco flinched, a fine tremble running through his entire body. He heard the sound of his own teeth chattering in his ears. "N-nnnothing," he whispered.

"No, no," Tom said with a funny smirk on his face. He shook his head then angled it so his ear was leaned closer to the other man's mouth and his own words came out in a falsely idle rumble. "I'eard you say _somefin'._ "

"I j-just said that-" Draco gulped. "-Hermione is a very nice girl."

At that, Tom withdrew slightly from his position, enough to look the man in the eyes and flash him another warm, _promising_ smile – Lord above, if looks could kill, Draco Malfoy would've been sliced into itty bitty pieces and scattered all around the hardwood floors of his loft. "She _is_ a right nice girl, isn't she?" he asked, challenging the man to say _anything_ else.

"Yes, Tom. She's a _very_ nice girl."

"You think we should go get that very nice girl out of jail now?"

Draco's voice was little more than a strained, terrified whisper. "Y-y-y-yes."

Tom let his eyes scan over Malfoy once more, taking in the way he trembled under his stare like a tiny dog. He let his gaze linger, making Draco more and more nervous as the seconds ticked by until, all at once, that tense air dropped away and Tom turned to retrieve his jacket once more.

"Brilliant. Put some clothes on." Any remaining traces of his native dialect were gone once again.

 **. . . . .**

" _Nooooobody knows…the trouble I've seeeeeen. Nooooobody knows…my sorrooooooow—"_

"Look alive, Granger!"

Hermione jolted upright at the early morning emergence of her jailer. Despite the fact the man had endeared himself to her for being as good a keeper as she could've asked for, her face fell at the sight of him. "Time to go already?" She did well keeping the nervous tremble out of her voice but frowned harder at how peppy the old burly man looked.

Officer Moody gave her a smile – one that'd completely thrown her for a loop the first time she'd ever seen it, but now just made her think of a big, cuddly…grinning puma.

She was almost offended by the sight of it and found herself pouting. Hermione padded to the bars and wrapped her hands around a pair, hands at chin level. "Ready for me to be gone already?"

The man scoffed, fetched a wicked looking key from an oversized key ring at his waist and went about unlocking her cell. When he didn't make to cuff her again, she just stood there looking oddly at him. Moody snorted and stepped to the side, waving his arm in an exaggerated flourish to indicate she should move out of the cage. "C'mon then."

Hermione narrowed her eyes as if it were all some sort of trick. "I'm afraid I don't—"

"Charges were dropped!" the man nearly _chirped_ his pleased explanation.

Her _jaw_ proceeded to drop as well at the news and she was sure she was dreaming.

Clearly, that was the only explanation.

She was in the cell – no, no, she'd already been transported to her _other_ long-term cell - and she was really _there_ daydreaming about the time she'd keyed her ex-boyfriend's car, slashed his tires, and battered the headlights, wheels, and body of his car with his own tire iron but he _totally_ forgave her and decided not to press charges. Now, she was being set free into the world…

"Granger, move your ass."

She blinked, startled, and her eyes sought out the owner of that voice, that very familiar tenor. "Tom," she said dumbly, suddenly breathless.

"I thought I told you to wait up front!" Officer Moody said grouchily, hiding the smirk at the way Hermione finally stepped past the threshold of her cell and shuffled awkwardly into the space between it and the sparsely placed desks in the office.

Tom was leaning against the large doorway that separated the front and back office, arms folded, legs crossed at the ankle, and offering her his best scowl. His shoulders felt significantly lighter than they had over the past ten or so hours as he'd contemplated how he was going to get her released. "If you're ready, I'd like to get out of here. Hanging around a police station isn't really how I'd prefer to spend my Saturday."

Hermione could see relief shining in Tom's eyes regardless of how hard he was attempting to smother it; she smiled at the sight. "Yeah," she commented shyly, "Not really how I'd hoped to spend mine, either."

He smirked and pushed off the wall, sparing a glance to Moody. "We're all set officer?"

"Aye, she's good to go."

Tom nodded and jerked his head in the direction he'd come from. "Come on then. Getting you out of here took nearly all morning and I'm famished. If you stop dragging your feet, we can still catch the tail end of breakfast and get those croissants I like."

Hermione blushed at his teasing but her chest clenched at the idea of the resistance Malfoy had probably put up. She didn't say anything else, just shuffled along, rubbing at her arms while following at Tom's side. She was caught up in her thoughts when she felt the heavy weight of his leather jacket drop onto her shoulders. When he just shrugged off her questing look, she let it go and hopped into the passenger side of his sedan.

He started them out from the police station with the radio station set to serene classical music turned down so it was little more than a pleasant tune accompanying the steady hum of the engine. Hermione waited until they were en route to what she now understood to not just be Tom's favorite breakfast place but the _only_ breakfast place he entertained and turned her head to look at him.

"Did Malfoy really drop the charges?"

He gave her a sideways glance, eying her in his jacket and how it practically engulfed her, but mostly how she nestled into it and loosed a relaxed sigh into its collar. "He did."

"And where is that fucking tosser now?"

Tom smirked at the complete lack of tact about her feelings on the man. "Home I would imagine. Or at least part of the way there. I picked him up after convincing him to drop the charges against you and…sent him on his merry way."

"You made him _walk?"_ She was turned full on towards him now in that very unsafe way Blaise hated so much and was able to see that Tom's smirk had spread into a really rather scary sort of smile where nearly _all_ of his teeth were showing.

Hermione let the quiet hang in the air for only a moment before asking, "Should I ask _how_ exactly you convinced him to do that?"

Tom's shoulders moved in another one of his surprisingly elegant shrugs. "I can be a very persuasive man."

"Tom, you didn't—"

" _Please_ , Granger. I didn't have to lay a finger on him. He simply…came to the conclusion on his own that he needed to do the right thing."

"Uh huh." Hermione looked at him skeptically, not fighting the smirk turning up the corners of her mouth even one bit. "Whatever, Rickle," she said in an exasperated fashion but with an unmistakable tint of fondness to his nickname. "Wake me up when we're there. Those cots are such shite to sleep on."

Tom huffed a laugh and watched her from the corner of his eye as she snuggled down into his jacket more securely, nodding off in seconds.

* * *

 **A/N:** First, I would like to say thank you to my friend and fellow author, Colubrina for sending many of you my way. She's awesome possum and I fucking love all of her stories. For those of you who haven't read them - 1. Why haven't you? and 2. Go check her out. I have a link (assuming that still works) to her profile on my bio page and she is also listed as one of my favorite authors, along with pretty much every single story she's turned out. If there are any missing, I'm pretty sure it's just because I forgot.

Now, this was just a short one in between working on the epic Persephone shenanigans. I will admit to modeling the Cockney shift ever so slightly after Sir Michael Caine. I heart that man. I enjoy your reviews, they've been most excellent! If boredom hits you between updates, check me out on Tumblr. I don't do much, but if you ask me questions, I'm liable to answer.


	18. Chapter 18

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 18**

The drive to the breakfast place wasn't long but the short minutes of rest she got cozied up in Tom's jacket were some of the best she'd had in several days. The rocking of the car ride and the fresh scent of the cologne clinging to the coat's collar were so relaxing that they lulled her to sleep before she had time to even think much of it. Tom had awoken her from her nap with a light nudging to her shoulder and it was with groggy, lidded eyes, that she realized he had intentions of actually going _inside_.

"Come on, woman. You dally much longer and they'll bar us from the breakfast menu."

"Wh-wha-Tom! I can't go out looking like this! I've been wearing these same clothes for over 24 hours and I spent the night in _jail!_ I know I'm not much to look at to begin with, but bloody _hell_ I can't even imagine—"

"Shut it," he snapped more harshly than he'd intended. He was back to scowling when he got out of the car and came around to her side to pull open the door. When she blinked up at him wide eyed, then huffed, then hunkered down in the seat with folded arms, that scowl intensified. "Granger, you look fine. Now get out of the car."

" _No._ I smell like rancid coffee, caramel syrup, booze, and fucking mothballs."

Tom rolled his eyes and in a fluid motion, he dipped in, unclipped her seatbelt and pulled her out of the car by way of lifting her out of the seat. She let out a surprised screech and smacked at his chest.

"Tom Riddle, you put me down this instant!"

He quirked a brow and let his arms dip so that she screeched again and clung to his neck.

"Fucking _twat!_ "

He snorted a laugh and gently set her down on her feet. "You smell fine, Granger."

She huffed. "I _don't_! I smell like-"

"Shut your trap, woman. You smell like _me_ now, anyway. Come on."

Hermione blushed but Tom missed it, too busy shutting his door and subsequently turning to the restaurant's entrance to notice. She groaned inwardly, patted her cheeks and willed the heat in them away, trying very hard to ignore the scent that was indeed now clinging to her skin. With another disgruntled grumble, she followed him inside.

 **. . .**

It turned out that the "breakfast place" was a nice little French bistro with an assortment of delicious vittles on the menu. They had, unfortunately, missed the breakfast cutoff, but Hermione scanned the neatly laminated pages of the posh looking menu and her mouth watered.

And then she looked at the prices.

And then she remembered she had none of her belongings with her - particularly her billfold.

Hermione frowned. "Sorry, Tom, can you spot me 'til we get home? I'll pay you back, I just don't…"

"Don't worry about it."

Her gaze blinked up from the menu to look at him over the top edges of hers. He wasn't looking at her but she could tell he knew she was looking at _him._

"Honestly, Hermione, you kind of had a shit day. I'm not nearly _that_ insensitive to the point where I'll take you to a place like this and expect you to pay your way, especially after all that."

She furrowed her brow, looked at her menu again then looked at him once more.

"Call it my treat or whatever you want to. I'm bloody hungry."

Annoyance wasn't tinging his words like it usually did and she had a jarring thought. _Was this a…_ Hermione chewed on her lip but she could sense the color had drained from her face. _Fuck, but what if between getting me out of jail and this—_ "I'd really rather you didn't. I-I-I mean I obviously will have to borrow since we're already here—but really, when we get back, I can—"

Tom did look at her by then, surprised by her sudden babbling. He was even more surprised when she looked as white as a sheet. It was nearly how she looked when she'd been spazzing about the bed Abraxas had gotten her.

The thought gave him pause…and then he connected all the dots.

"Malfoy." She looked up, pale like a ghost now. He was disappointed in himself that it'd taken him even that long to realize it, though he supposed he _was_ a little preoccupied arranging her release to think too much into the relationship she'd had with the little prick. "Malfoy's the one that made you…"

His words trailed off but Hermione didn't need him to complete the thought to understand what he was asking about.

 _Malfoy's the one that's messed you up about "favours" and "gifts" and all these things, isn't he?_

Yes. Malfoy was the one.

She hadn't answered him aloud but Tom watched the thoughts circulating in her head play out in the tiniest of twitches that tightened her eyes and tugged her lips in a frown. It made his temper flare and he sat back with a grunt, running a hand back through his hair in an agitated fashion.

"Fuck. Look, Granger, I'm sorry about that fucker and…about what I said the other night...and the one day. Fuck, I'm sorry." Tom released another gruff noise and stared at his fists where they were clenched on the tabletop. "Shit," he grumbled under his breath, "Wish I _had_ decked the chuffin' blighter now…made him use the insurance on that pointy git face…"

Hermione's anxiety fled in the face of Tom Riddle's uncharacteristic, different sort of cursing. "Now you sound like _me,_ " she commented lightly. Judging by the wide-eyed look on his face as his stare darted back up to meet hers, he hadn't actually meant her to hear that. It made her grin all the more and, without thinking, she reached out to brush her fingers over his knuckles, tracing them across the symbols forever inked into his skin there. "Hey, thanks. For…a lot of things. I appreciate it. I know I'm a little weird about some things, it's just been a while since...just, thanks."

Tom swallowed around the lump now lodged in his throat. "Don't mention it, Granger," he said with such casual dismissal. "I think if I let you rot in prison, Blaise would have kittens anyway. He's adopted you, you know."

"Marvelous," she hummed. "It's as I've always said: 'When I grow up, I want to belong to a snarky arsehole who has no shame or filter but a heart of gold.'" Hermione paused, tapped her chin thoughtfully and added, "Oh wait, that's you innit it?"

Tom raised an eyebrow.

 _Was she…?_

Abraxas' and Blaise's previous not so subtle nudgings about the subject of all things Hermione Granger and how he needed to make a move entered his head at the realization that he sure as shit hoped she _was.._.

He scoffed playfully. "I have shame, I'll have you know."

Her lips twitched. "But no filter to that vile tongue of yours?"

"I've a filter. If I didn't, it would be much, _much_ worse." After a beat he added, "And my tongue is _not_ vile."

"Really? Because much of my experience with it has been _quite_ vile."

"Maybe you should have a closer look then and find a better experience with it." His reply came out quickly, fluidly, and outright shocked the pair of them.

Tom only seemed to hear exactly what it was he'd said when he saw her cheeks had regained their color, and then some.

Hermione, for her part, swallowed and found that the mental image of her entertaining just such an action wouldn't be very easily shaken from her head.

Their waiter returned before either of them had much more time to lose themselves in the implications of what had just happened.

 **. . . . .**

The car ride home was full of the awkward silence that continued to follow them and it had been swiftly climbing to "unbearable," all set to peak until, thankfully, they arrived back at the house.

Hermione, who was still wrapped in Tom's jacket with her arms threaded through the sleeves so the thing dwarfed her even _more_ comically now, was gnawing on her lip as she entered the living room. She was acutely aware of the heat from the man at her back as he came in behind her after locking the garage door.

" _Ooooohhh…"_

A moan came from the sofa and Hermione's chest fluttered with relief. _Blaise!_

She turned her head to greet him and only now noticed him sprawled on his stomach, face buried into the cushions with a throw pillow over the back of his head and an arm and one leg dangling off the side so they were brushing the carpet.

Hermione tilted her head to examine him. "What the hell happened to you?"

Blaise released a very ornery noise and growled out a _"SHHH. Fucking LOUD….inconsiderate….oooohhhhhh…."_

She blinked back over her shoulder to see Tom staring at his friend in his post-performance night agony.

"Hangover," Tom said simply.

"Ah." Padding over to her flatmate and placing her hand gently between his shoulder blades, Hermione proceeded to start rubbing small circles in the center of his back. He grunted and snarled at her at first and then his noises faded into softer, quieter blubbers of protest intermingled with sounds of contentment. Hermione lowered her voice to a whisper and cooed, "Blaise…love…do you know what a good cure for hangovers is?"

Tom watched her carefully, finding a peculiar feeling tingling down his back at the physical familiarity between the two, but he kept his mouth shut.

Blaise grumped and growled at her some more but eventually turned his head so, beneath the throw pillow, he would have been looking her way. Hermione curled her fingers so slightly so that with every circle of her rubs, she was now scratching over his t-shirt covered back very lightly. He shivered and hummed a more agreeable noise at last. "Mmm...wassat?"

With a wide smile upon her face, Hermione pushed back to her feet and ripped the pillow from his head and shouted, **_"SUNLIGHT!"_**

Blaise screamed bloody horror and hissed as soon as the light hit the backs of his eyelids. He flailed about, squinting and grabbing at her to steal back his pillow. The stream of curses that fell from his lips only made her cackle, her laughter reaching an all-time guffaw level when he managed to wriggle so much he fell off the sofa.

"Fucking **_HOODLUM!_** " he moaned woefully, scrabbling for the pillow when she dropped it again near his head.

Hermione snorted and rolled her eyes. "Also, you could try learning how to hold your liquor. Cutting out anything that comes served with tiny paper umbrellas in them is a good place to start as well."

At his continued whining, Hermione turned back to Tom and the grin on her face faltered with the way he had also been laughing and was now smiling at her.

 _Butterflies…bleedin' butterflies in the belly._

 _Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-_

She covered quickly enough and grinned again, moving past him towards the stairs.

"… _din't drink nothin' with umbrellas…"_ Blaise muttered petulantly into the carpet.

Tom barely spared his friend another glance before he followed her, leaving Blaise to wallow in his hangover by himself. He caught up with Hermione easily enough and saw her to her room.

"I don't really think it was necessary for you to walk me to my door, considering it's _just_ down the hall, but thanks."

Tom shrugged. "You have a knack for getting into trouble, it seems. Can never be too careful."

She smiled almost bashfully and stepped inside her room, hand resting lightly on the handle.

Their signature silence pulled up a lawn chair and had a sit down right there with them.

Tom watched her hovering in the doorway, thoughts playing across her face but never quite reaching past her lips to be made known.

Hermione avoided looking up at him, knowing that if she caught him smiling or smirking or grinning or….generally looking in her general vicinity, her resolve might - **_would_** \- wilt.

"Well…this is my stop," she said lamely.

Tom was jostled from his own thoughts and yanked back the hand that'd been drifting towards the curls that had long since come undone from her hairband and were making a mockery of all manner of order and control. "It is."

"I'm going to…um…" Hermione glanced up for _just_ a second and had to look away again, hand tightening on the doorknob. "I'm going to try and have a nap. I'm really still…quite knackered."

"Right. Yeah. Okay…sounds good."

"Okay."

"Okay."

"So…see you later?"

"Yeah, sure thing, Granger."

"Okay. Great."

"Okay."

"Okay….bye."

"Okay by-" The door clicked shut in his face and Tom stared at it.

He opened his mouth and raised a hand as if he were about to knock and beckon her back out but dropped it again; he exhaled a sigh. Tom shook his head then dropped it back so he could loose another exasperated noise towards the ceiling this time.

 _Wanker. You ARE fucking twelve…certainly haven't gotten any better at this._

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tom shuffled down the hall. He was shaking his head and muttering to himself about the lameness of his nerves in asking his oh-so-crazy flatmate out on a proper date as nearly all of his friends had counseled him to do by that point. He had really only just gotten into his room and shut the door, having made it so far as to change out of his shirt and sweats into some sleep shorts whilst mulling over all the things he could've said or done differently when a hurried knock came.

Tom grimaced at his door, thinking it someone like Abraxas coming to snoop after hearing he'd finally gotten home. With that in mind, he padded back to it and ripped it open with that unfriendly look fixed in place, only to open it to the sight of the girl he thought he'd just tucked into bed standing there, twiddling her thumbs anxiously.

As soon as he answered, her head came up and he had barely two seconds before her hands had planted themselves firmly on his chest in a hard shove that had him stumbling around, back into his room, until he finally caught himself with his back against a nearby wall. His level of confusion was high as he'd barely finished fumbling about, before she was there again, in front of him, just as he'd left her, with her small hands cupping his face.

"Granger, what the—" Was all he'd managed before she'd tugged his face down to hers and proceeded to snog him so thoroughly, his eyes rolled back and his toes curled into the carpet.

Hermione drew his bottom lip between her teeth and suckled on it savagely, stealing the surprised groan that sent heat straight to the spot between her thighs. She loosed her own strangled moan that he gobbled up with _great_ enthusiasm as he stroked his hands down her sides with obvious appreciation before jerking her more solidly to his body. Hermione whimpered, admiring how much warmer he was than the jacket he'd leant her— _jacket. The jacket._

She pulled her mouth from his, the resulting growl that tumbled free from his throat at the act sending shivers through her and she rubbed her thighs together with a shuddered sigh. Hermione dragged her palms over the flat wonderfully meaty planes of his chest and all those neatly segmented hills and valleys of muscle that made up his abdomen and allowed herself one long, admiring look at the man.

His breath was coming in small pants, his mouth hanging open, and his eyes dark, pupils blown wide and fixed on her face.

"Jacket," she breathed huskily, "forgot to return your jacket."

 _There. Excuse delivered._

The logical reasonings in Hermione's head had short circuited somewhere on the arduous walk from her bedroom to his, so she just shrugged out of said jacket and tossed it on top of a pile of other things in his room before making to pull his head right back down to hers.

She paused when they were mere inches apart again, a flicker of sense causing her only enough pause to look him in the eyes and ask breathlessly, "Is this okay?"

He nodded dumbly, swallowed, and latched his hands onto her waist to lift her so she had to wrap her legs around him. "Yeah," he panted heavily, voice thick, gravelly, and heated.

Tom walked them towards his bed, depositing her onto the mattress and was crawling up her body into a pair of welcoming arms; also _quite_ ready to reunite with that pair of welcoming lips.

"Yeah, this is okay."

* * *

 **A/N:** Is anyone gonna close that door?


	19. Chapter 19

**Aca-Playlist:** How Low by Ludacris ... (sort of)

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 19**

It wasn't vile.

That tongue of his wasn't vile at all.

Gods, it was _brilliant._

Hermione's head craned back more fully into his pillows to allow him room to trail that not vile tongue down the length of her neck to a spot on her throat that had her gasping and muttering nonsense. One of his hands was buried in her hair and the other was edging beneath the hem of her shirt slowly, cautiously, as if to avoid startling her. He was _right there_ ; every bit of his body was hot and hard above her, the muscles of his back these gently rippling planes of delight that she kept running her nails over again and again to make him shiver, and that wasn't vile either. None of him was.

Every time she raked her claws down his back, he shuddered and attacked her neck and shoulders and jaw with more fevered kisses. His hips would bump hers so very briefly and then jerk back away before she had a chance to feel more than the firm line of his thighs snugged up against her.

He was obviously restraining himself.

And it was bloody maddening.

Hermione groaned and swept one of her hands into his dark waves, clenching the hair between her fingers to rip him from her neck and tug him back to her mouth. She swallowed down the pleased growl that vibrated free from his throat and swept her tongue along the seam of his mouth until he opened for her. Hermione traced the tip of it over those swollen, velvety cushions of his lips and she could feel the goosebumps erupt all over his fine expanse of back, but he still kept himself a barely respectable distance from her center. The only other response that assured her he was enjoying himself quite well was when he swirled his tongue around the questing tip of hers with a languid set of circles, so obviously meant to imply how dexterous he could be elsewhere.

Hermione's eyes rolled beneath her lids and she practically snarled into his mouth before shoving him off of her violently enough to roll them and switch positions. Tom loosed a startled noise into the air, arms coming out on either side of him in a slight flail before latching onto his mattress so he didn't roll clean off the bed.

She lorded over him and admired how thoroughly snogged he looked. His face was flushed, his neck was flushed, all of his little segments of abdominal muscles that she complained about so much were flushed – _ugh_ , _it was absolutely disgusting how much she wanted to shag him looking like that._

"Hermione," he breathed, "What's wro—"

The material of her shirt silenced him mid-sentence and he scrambled to rip it from his face. His mouth went dry when he saw her, kneeling above him in a simple black bra, her hair long and wild and free from all the confines that ever thought they could hold it, frantically fumbling with the button to her slacks.

Tom groaned and his hands reached up to run over her slightly rounded belly, muttering, _"Cor, yor gonna kill me…"_

She shivered, looking down at him with quite possibly the hungriest, darkest eyes that had ever been lain upon him and had only managed to get her fly down before she was unable to resist crawling up his body again. Hermione lowered her hips so she was straddling him now with her core pressed to the telltale tent in his shorts and ground herself against him, stealing his hands from where they'd been perched to fasten them around her ass instead. A pleasure filled whimper tumbled from her lips when he took the hint and moved her around with his grip there, rubbing her all along the hard length only separated by a sparse few layers of clothes.

She groaned at an especially good grind. _"Fuckin' Cockney,"_ she murmured against his lips with heat and fondness and felt him smirk. Hermione lost most of her remaining coherent thought when he spouted some other heavily accented mutterings that she could barely translate alongside the way he dragged her over his hips again and again and again— _"Fuck,"_ she whimpered. Her skin was burning. She needed those bloody clothes _off_. Off, off, off, off, _**OFF.**_

And she was wriggling free of her work slacks with no small amount of help from Tom.

And she was unclasping the back of her bra.

And he had his thumbs hooked into the waistband of her knickers.

And he was tugging—

 _ **HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?**_

 _ **HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?**_

 _ **SHE CAN GO LOWER THAN I EVER REALLY THOUGHT SHE COULD, FACE DOWN, ASS UP!**_

 _ **THE TOP OF YO' BOOTY JIGGLIN' OUT YO' JEANS**_

And then Tom's phone started vibrating and singing loudly from his bedside table…

Stunned into inaction, Hermione, panting heavily as if she'd just run a race, was staring wide at the offensive object that was clattering all around on the table.

 _ **I LIKE IT WHEN I SEE YOU DO IT**_

 _ **BETTER THAN I EVER SEEN IT DONE BEFORE**_

Hermione watched the device vibrating relentlessly with the name "PANSY" blinking on its screen.

She grimaced intensely. "Who the fuck is Pansy?"

Tom growled and reached for the phone, fumbling trying to get it before it rattled onto the ground. "Fuckin' bane of my existence…"

 _ **LOWER THAN YO' MAMA'S EVER SEEN IT IN HER LIFETIME**_

 _ **NEVER WOULD HAVE IMAGINED IT**_

 _ **NOT EVEN IN HER RIGHT MIND**_

"I thought you were single," Hermione said tartly and started to move off of him.

Tom snapped a hand to her hip and held her their fiercely, stubbornly. He was willing his erection to persist through the lewd lyrics of the new ringtone spewing from his phone that one of his roommates had apparently hijacked and sabotaged again. He managed to knock his phone off the table and tried to snag it up by the charging cable yet succeeded only in allowing it to rip free of the charger and bounce just out of reach. "I _AM_ ," he growled, balancing her over his cock while inching his fingertips toward the device. "She's Abraxas' bird."

 _ **PRACTICE IN FRONT OF THAT MIRROR**_

 _ **NOW YOU DOIN' IT ON THE DANCE FLOOR**_

 _ **MAD 'CUZ I CAN'T GET WITH YOU**_

 _ **JUST SHOW ME HOW TO DANCE - OOOH**_

Hermione stopped trying to wriggle away and scratched her chin thoughtfully, the other hand resting comfortably over his that was still clamped onto her side. "Oh. Yeah, I do recall something about that." She settled back onto him, tightening her thighs around the outside of his and pulling a groan from the man while he was still trying to procure the phone with her looking as if she was riding one of those mechanical bulls in the market with all his jostling. "I thought they weren't exclusive."

"Yeah." He grunted, now half hanging off the bed with her perched on his lower body, one long, tattooed arm reaching. "They'd like you to think that."

"Well turn off the bloody thing already so we can—"

"I'm _trying!_ If you would stop _moving_ —it's distracting as all—"

" _ **Hello?"**_

They both froze, eyes huge.

Hermione blinked at him, at the phone, then back at him.

" _ **HELLOOO? Riddle?"**_

" _What did you DO?"_ Hermione hissed.

Tom grimaced deeply and whispered back, _"…I answered it."_

" _ **Riddle? Hey! Is that you? I heard you pick up!"**_

" _What the fuck?! Why the hell did you do that?!"_

" _I didn't MEAN to! Bleedin' Christ—"_

" _ **RIDDLE!**_ _ **HEY! I hear you! Pick up the fucking phone!"**_

Tom looked to Hermione desperately for help and she rolled her eyes and slapped his hand off her hip with a huff. "Might as well. Kind of _not_ in the mood anymore."

" _FUCK—_ no, Hermione, wait—"

" _ **Hermione? Who's Hermione? OH! Riddle, have you finally gotten yourself a girlfriend? It's about time, Abraxas tells me about how hard up you are to get lai-"**_

" _ **WHAT**_ Pansy?" Tom slid unceremoniously to the carpet and yanked up the phone, cutting the girl on the other end off with a rabid snarl. He was glaring off hard into nowhere, trying very hard to maintain his temper as his flatmate scooted off the other side of his bed and began collecting her clothing. He felt a vein in his forehead throb violently and he growled again, "What the FFF—" He breathed through his nose slowly, attempting to calm himself, the hand not holding his mobile clenching and unclenching in the air in front of him. " _ **What**_ do you want?"

Entirely unfazed by his gruff tone, Pansy chirped happily. _**"Hey! I was trying to get Abbie but he wasn't answering. Is he home?"**_

"Don't know. Don't care. Thanks for calling, bye—"

" _ **NO! HEY! Don't hang up! Don't you dare hang up that phone, Tom Riddle, or I will come over there myself and find out!"**_

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the loud voice blasting from his receiver and gave him a curious look.

Tom hissed back over his shoulder. _"She's bluffing. He still hasn't told her where we live."_

" _ **I HEARD that! And I am NOT bluffing! I swear I will—no, you know what? I'm coming over, right now!"**_

Exhaling the next ferocious noise that tried to escape him, Tom planted his face in his hand instead and muttered. "I don't fucking know, Pans. I think he's sleeping. I'm not actually his keeper you know."

" _ **Oh. Okay well that would make sense. He DID get pretty trashed last night. He couldn't even keep it u—"**_

"PANSY – are we done?"

" _ **No. Who's Hermione?"**_

"None of your bloody business."

" _ **No, no! That name sounds really familiar. I think Abbie—OH! OH OH OH! OHHHHHH TOM! Is that your roommate?!"**_

Tom's eyes narrowed and he spared a glance to the woman in question. Hermione had her slacks back on now but had refrained from replacing her 24-plus hours old shirt and had apparently made herself right at home and rifled through his dresser to claim one of his sleeveless ones.

 _Shit. She might not have been in the mood anymore, but seeing her draped in his clothing was doing wonders for getting him there once more. He was wondering to himself if he might be able to convince her that her slacks were far too dingy to continue wearing as well…_

" _ **HEY! RIDDLE!"**_

"Yes!" he growled again, not knowing how awful an idea it was to release such information.

" _ **OHHHHHHHHH! Can I talk to her?! Ohmigod, I need to talk to her. Riddle, put Hermione on the phone!"**_

"Wha—no, you can't—"

" _ **NOW! Do it now!"**_

"Pansy, she doesn't want to talk to you—"

" _ **Have you asked her?"**_

"No."

" _ **Well ask her!"**_

"Also no."

Hermione was watching him argue adamantly with the woman on the other line and rolled her eyes before tromping over to him and snatching the phone out of his hands and pressing it to her ear. "Hello, this is Hermione."

An obnoxious _SQUEE_ sounded from the other end and it was so loud that Hermione winced and had to hold the mobile several inches away until it stopped.

Hesitantly, after a moment's silence, Hermione put it back to her ear. "Uh…hello?"

The voice on the other end quieted down enough so that Tom could no longer hear what the beast was saying to his not-girlfriend-but-not-quite-just-flatmate so he just sat on the carpet impatiently, in only his shorts, watching Hermione pace around his room with a funny look on her face with casual interjections of _yes, uh-huh, I see, mmhmm,_ and other variations of the like.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hermione finally said, "Right..uh, sure. I will…see you around I suppose?"

" _ **PERFECT!"**_ Pansy's voice screeched again from the other end, then, _**"Pansy ACA-OUT!"**_ And the line went silent.

Hermione was staring at the phone with her lip turned up. "'Aca-out?' What the—"

Tom's eyes went wide and he rose to his feet and collected his phone from her. "What did she ask? What did she say to you?" he asked hurriedly, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach.

"Uh…" She blinked at him and the sudden terror blooming on his features. "She asked if she could meet me…said some stuff about seeing me on Friday at the pub."

"And you said?"

She shrugged. "She seemed harmless enough – maybe a bit enthusiastic – but harmless, so I said okay."

"Oh _**NO**_ ," Tom groaned and flopped onto the edge of his bed, head falling into his hands immediately.

Hermione only then started to look worried. "What? What happened? What'd I do?"

"She's _scouting_ you…for her a cappella group… _FUCK_ ….fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK."

She blinked. And then again. And then she laughed. "HA! No. Oh no, I don't sing anymore."

He peeked through his fingers and gave her a look.

Hermione blushed and amended, "Well, not _usually._ It's not like she can force me…" She trailed off at the other look he gave her. "Well she CAN'T."

"Yeah, you don't know Pansy."

Hermione paled at whatever she'd just managed to get herself into and Tom released the most pathetic sounding noise she'd ever heard from the man, shoulders drooping further and another groan rattling from his chest.

"Welcome to the bleedin' club, Granger."

* * *

 **A/N:** Work upload so proofreading was very quick. Sorry for errors. Hope you enjoy the midday update.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N:** A little one, but a fun one. I'd just like to dedicate this one to a couple of folks: **loony-luna-lovegood** I hope these silly little things brighten your days! **Colubrina and Brightki** because...well you'll see...

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 20**

Blaise had managed to pick himself up off of the floor and shuffle into the shower downstairs sometime after the noisy Hellbeast and her asshole mate went upstairs. He had no idea how much time had passed but when he heard the crashing and stumbling about from the room above him, he decided to get himself all cleaned up so he could be in proper gloating condition by the time they were all done.

It's not as though it would take long, Blaise had thought, the poor man hadn't been with a girl in ages. He told himself he'd be surprised if Tom managed to not blow his load when Hermione finally showed him her breasts.

He was feeling sufficiently refreshed by the time he was finished and even managed a bit of a swagger back to his room, looking forward to _hours_ full of "I told you so's." He tightened the towel around his waist and took to drying the droplets of moisture clinging to his closely shaved head with a smaller one. Blaise had made it into his room, the door shut and locked, and turned to retrieve a change of clothes from his closet by the time he realized _**there was a man in his bed.**_

Blaise's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped open, his surprised screech barely stifled by the towel he practically shoved into his mouth to muffle the sound. His eyes darted over the pale, bare back stretched out across his bed with just a single layer of sheets pooled around the man's hips. It was impossible to tell if he was naked under there or not but—Blaise swiped a hand over his face with growing dread.

 _FUCK. How drunk WAS I?_

His eyes raked over the man again, head tilting a little when he took a moment to appreciate the gently rolling stretches of muscle in his back and the mop of tousled black hair covering what little he could see of the face pressed into his pillows.

… _at least he was a_ _ **fine**_ _stretch of man…_

Blaise was still inspecting him, admiring the slight swell of the bicep draped along the side of his bedframe when a husky voice shocked a startled screech from him.

"Morning," the voice said softly and had an unmistakable tinge of a German accent to it.

Blaise watched as that gorgeous length of man, previously all nestled in his sheets, gathered his arms beneath him to push off the mattress and sit up. The man was saying something – something in perfect English yet draped in that beautiful tinge of German – but he was distracted by the way the light and shadows peeking through the blinds rippled along his arms, back, and side as his muscles did their job. They worked, rolled, stretched, and bulged beneath that smooth expanse of pale skin to get him upright and Blaise's thoughts drifted far, _faaaaar_ away...

He'd almost forgotten that he had no idea if this exquisite specimen was naked or not.

Blaise's cheeks burned when the sheet began to fall away and he turned his head reflexively to leave him his modesty.

He heard a throaty chuckle from the bed and Blaise covered his shiver by a dramatic readjusting of his towel.

"M'decent."

At the comforting rumble from this nameless individual, Blaise let out a sigh, and turned back to look at him…only to have his mouth become suddenly so, so dry.

This neatly toned man was now sitting on his bed, facing him, feet planted on the plush carpet while he sported only a pair of boxer shorts and was rubbing at his face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stay so long. Meant to be out first thing…guess I was more tired than I thought."

His English really was perfect.

Blaise was fairly certain _HE_ was perfect.

That dark hair of his was sticking out in all directions and even from this distance, he could hear the rough rasp of his palms over the scruff on his cheeks and it sent another chill down his spine. Blaise couldn't keep his eyes from running all over him…his rather toned looking calves, the slight dimples on the sides of his thighs where the thick muscle of the tops of them disappeared beneath the edge of his shorts, the lean look of his stomach and chest – and were those _nipple_ piercings? Oh, well, they were nice too…they went well with the large dark plugs in his ears and the thick silver rings threaded through the corners of both sides of his bottom lip.

Those ones that, Blaise noticed, were quirked up with his lopsided grin.

Because the man was _looking_ at him now.

Because he was _smiling_ at him now.

He was…waiting for him to say something? Because he'd _asked_ him something—

 _SHIT._ He needed to say something back!

 _ **"YOU'RE VERY PRETTY!"**_ Blaise squealed in mortification after the words burst out and he felt his cheeks darken even more. The man laughed and Blaise was sure he'd just died because it was the loveliest sound he'd ever heard.

"You said that last night too."

His eyes were the darkest, most intense shade of blue Zabini had ever seen on anyone and a tiny whimper caught in his throat. "I-I-I'm sorry…I….I don't..I didn't…"

"S'alright, friend." He chuckled and pushed to his feet, padding over to the dark skinned man, sticking his hand out in a friendly gesture. "I'm not surprised you don't remember my name, you were _very_ drunk. I'm Theodore. Theo if you prefer." He winked.

Blaise swallowed past the lump in his throat and reached out to grasp it. The thought that Theo had a _very_ firm grip fluttered through his head. "H-hello…Theodore." He gulped, shook the proffered hand, and still felt it tingling after their hands each dropped away from the other. "Blaise," he added awkwardly.

"Oh, I remember." Theo grinned, those rings in his lip making him look positively devilish, and he winked again.

Another funny chirp of a sound snuck past his lips without his consent and Blaise didn't think he could have felt simultaneously so good and bad about having this beautiful man in his room – _he didn't remember a fucking thing!_ His mouth flapped several times like a fish on land, many pathetic gasping, rasping noises escaping him until finally Theodore laughed again.

He clapped Blaise on the back and turned back to retrieve his clothes from the pile he'd apparently left on the floor. "I'm just fucking with you. Nothing happened."

A monumental sigh of relief shuddered free from his chest but Blaise found himself having to keep the disappointed lilt out of his words. "Of course not! I mean…I'm not that kind of guy! I just…I…" He had to pause and collect himself, partially disgusted that HE – _Blaise Zabini!_ – had been struck speechless by this intrusive individual. Even if he was an outrageously handsome beauty. "Sorry, so _how_ did you end up in my bed…exactly..?"

Theo's shoulders shrugged before he bent over to procure his jeans and started to shimmy into the faded black denim.

Blaise's tongue came out to whet his lips - _Gods_ , _he was parched_.

"I helped cart you and your friends home last night. You passed out on the couch before I could get you in here instead. The drive home for me is a bit far, so your roommate, that Riddle guy, he insisted I crash here."

"Ah, I see," Blaise remarked neutrally.

 _That wonderful, WONDERFUL peach of a man, that Tom Riddle. I think I'll buy him a car for his birthday._

Theo was facing him again, tugging his shirt back on over his head. He was smirking in that way that made all the caterpillars in the universe spawn in Blaise's belly then turn themselves into happy little butterflies who decided to go apeshit in his stomach and nudge him somewhere between absolutely elated and floating and terribly nauseated and about to sick all over his own carpet.

"You insisted too," said Theo.

Blaise paled. "I what-do what, now?"

The man nodded and was sitting again, lacing up some heavy looking leather motorcycle boots. "You were very insistent that I…what was it? _'Lay my pretty face down on your pillows and go sleep sleeps night night.'_ "

A too loud, nervous titter erupted from Blaise's mouth and he was sure he'd died now – and had likely gone to Hell. "AH! AH HA HA HA HA …WOW! Well—uh— _wow_. I am… _so, SO_ sorry about that."

Theo finished dressing, pushed to his feet once more, and crossed to him with his hands tucked into his pockets. "It was pretty funny, actually. I'd almost go so far as to say adorable."

Blaise swallowed loudly and he fumbled the small towel that he'd unwittingly been ratting between his hands that entire time. Theodore's closeness brought with it a warm scent of citrus and pine and Blaise wasn't entirely sure how those things worked together but all he could think of was that that scent was _all_ over his pillows and sheets now. His lids fluttered and he found he couldn't stop stammering. "Th-th-thanks for that?" He said awkwardly, smiling charmingly and, for once in his life, could think of absolutely _nothing_ more clever to say.

Theo raised an eyebrow. "Well...thank you for having me. Sorry I was here so late, hope it hasn't been an inconvenience to-"

 _ **"NOT AN INCONVENIENCE AT ALL."**_

Theo's other eyebrow rose to join the first at the blast of loudness from the man in front of him, observing the other with no small hint of amusement. That grin never seemed to leave him. "Allllright. Thanks again, Blaise. See you around?"

He tittered – Blaise _tittered_ – and flashed a bright, eager smile. _**"Absolutely!"**_

With a chuckle, Theo nodded once more and finally left Blaise to his own devices.

As soon as the door shut once more, he deflated and stared at it.

 _Hard._

A handful of seconds passed before he buried his face in his hands and moaned out a horrible, **_horrible_** noise.

"Zabini, you're a fucking _tosser!"_


	21. Chapter 21

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 21**

" _Did you tell her? Did you fucking tell her where we live?!"_

As soon as Theo excited Blaise's room, he heard shouting from down the hall. With a curious tilt of his head, he scooted down the wall, listening in to the yelling coming from inside the room with the little light bulb mounted outside.

A groan came from within the room. _"Fuck…keep it down, mate. My bloody head—"_

" _Bugger your 'bloody head'! Did you, or didn't you tell your snotty girlfriend where we live?!"_

" _She is_ _ **not**_ _my girlfriend. And NO! Why do you have your knickers in such a wad anyway?"_

" _Your damn bird threatened to show up here if she couldn't talk to Granger—"_

" _Wait…whoa, wait."_

There was a loud creaking of leather as it sounded like someone was readjusting themselves noisily on a big couch or chair.

" _When did she call you?"_ The voice sounded a bit nervous.

" _This morning!"_ The other voice – _Riddle, definitely Riddle_ – shouted. _"She called looking for your hungover arse when Hermione and I were—"_ Riddle stopped abruptly and his tone shifted, the next words coming out with more initial hesitation. _"—after I'd picked Granger up, we were talking and she interrupted looking for you."_

" _Talking."_ A pause and then the other man's voice purred teasingly, _"Did this talking involve a more extensive use of teeth than usual, mate? You've got a…funny little bruise right there—"_

" _SHUT IT—"_

"BOO!"

Theo barely contained his yelp with a hand over his mouth and turned to see a girl standing there, watching him with a smirk on her face and a cup of coffee in one of her hands.

"Ah, I was just uh—"

"Eavesdropping?" Hermione chirped helpfully.

"Um…"

She shrugged. "To be fair, I don't think you can really call it eavesdropping when Mummy and Daddy are being so bloody loud. With the door open, at that."

Theo opened his mouth to reply but squinted instead when he realized that this was the same girl from the bar, this was the one that Pansy had such a hard-on for. She was looking at him expectantly, clad in some scandalously short shorts and a sleeveless shirt that was far too large for her with a neckline that reached dangerously low.

 _Fuck, what did Riddle call her just now?_ "Ah, yeah, sorry about that. I was just about to head out—"

The door down the hall slammed loudly and the light outside flicked on as the rising shouts from behind it were muffled just enough to where neither of them could make out distinct words. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed at how much of a tizzy Tom had been in at the concept of Pansy knowing where they rested their heads at night. She extended a hand to Theo and offered, "Would you like a coffee to go?"

Theo blinked at the red light and back to the girl's hand, hesitating only slightly before accepting and allowing the lovely woman to lead him to the kitchen. "That would be much appreciated, Miss…sorry I didn't catch your name."

"Hermione," she said offhandedly and sat Theo down on a stool that'd been tucked under the edge of the breakfast bar.

His brow creased, hearing the name again more clearly tickled something in his memory. "Hermione," Theo repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. When she looked at him curiously, he replaced his slight frown smoothly with a smile and reached his hand out to her, this time in belated greeting. "Theodore Nott. It's very much a pleasure, Miss Hermione, I hadn't expected to meet such a beautiful woman here. Particularly not after…assisting in the transportation of the…other occupants."

Hermione eyed him carefully but shook his hand and came around to the other side of the counter to fix him a to-go cup. "Are you fucking Blaise?" she asked without preamble.

Theo sputtered and the charming smile dropped from his face to be replaced with one of unmasked shocked. "E-excuse me?"

"Milk and sugar okay?"

"Uh, yes…"

Hermione spooned some sugar and splashed milk from the small carton she'd had on the counter into a branded travel mug and nudged it across the breakfast bar to Theo. "Back to my other question." She took up her own cup once more and sipped her drink. "You look a tad rumpled and you were coming out of his room, so I'm asking, are you our little Blaisie's boyfriend?"

Theo chanced a glance in the direction of Blaise's room before answering. "Ah, I'm not—"

"So you're just fucking him? Or…he's fucking you? I'm really not sure of his preference in the pairing or the logistics of it all, so I don't—"

" _Hermione! Tzzzt! TZZT!"_ An appalled screech sounded from the doorway and a fully clothed Zabini appeared waving his arms at the girl so casually clad in partly her clothing and partly Tom's trying to shoo her away like a bug. " _TZZZZZT!_ ZIP IT!"

"Oh, good morning, Blaise!" Hermione hummed merrily. "I was just grilling Theodore here about his association to you. Coffee?"

" _NO,_ I would not like—wait, what is that thing there?"

"This? It's a French press. I found it in a cupboard."

"We have a French press?"

"Evidently."

"I've heard that they make very good coffee—"

" _I_ make very good coffee. The French press helps. So, a cup?"

"Yes, please, that sounds delightful."

"Of course—"

"Now what the _fuck_ do you think you're doing to our guest here?!" Blaise huffed at the girl as she gathered another mug from a cabinet then turned to Theodore. "I'm so sorry about her. We took her in from the streets not long ago, she has no clue how to function in polite society—"

"Yes, I'm positively rabid," Hermione muttered, fixing Blaise's coffee in a way he'd come to prefer.

" _Hush,_ puppy," Blaise snapped at her and turned a too tight smile back to Theo who was staring strangely at Hermione's back. He followed the other man's gaze to the crest emblazoned on her exposed skin and he squawked at the indecency. Blaise scurried over to where she was mixing his drink, tugging and yanking on the top she'd stolen from their roommate until it was more sufficiently covering her. He glared at her, "Cover _up_ , woman! This isn't a house of sin!"

Hermione gave him a funny look over her shoulder. "But by definition, if he's seen your peni—"

Blaise's hand clamped over her mouth and he looked to Theo once more who was watching them with obvious amusement dancing in his eyes as he sipped from his travel mug. "Come, Theodore, allow me to walk you out."

Theo smirked, that smooth, charming, pants melting smirk that made Blaise swallow thickly, and slid off the seat he'd been spectating from. "Sure." He waited for Blaise to release the girl, chuckling at the way he was staring at her as though she were a bomb liable to go off at any second, and followed. Theo spared Hermione a small wave as he exited. "Bye Miss Hermione, pleasure meeting you."

Hermione called something back to him in response, but Theo missed it with how hastily Blaise urged him through the garage door and slammed it shut behind them.

"Sorry about her," Blaise muttered and pressed the button on the opener, standing with him awkwardly as the outer garage door noisily clattered open.

Theo shrugged and fished his keys from his pocket. "S'alright. Made for an interesting morning at least. Not every day I get accused of being someone's boyfriend."

The door clanked as it settled fully into its open position and the darkening color to Blaise's cheeks was much more noticeable in the light of the sun. " _So_ sorry about that—"

"Don't be," Theo said softly. Blaise's previously averted gaze snapped right back up and he winked when he caught it. "See you around."

Blaise opened his mouth to bid Theo farewell but only a soft squeak mildly resembling a _"bye"_ came out and his hand did this half-wave, half-wiggling of his fingers thing of its own volition.

 **. . . . .**

 _Hermione._

 _Hermione…Hermione…Hermione…_

Theo sat at a red light, brow furrowed and thinking about the strange girl's strange name and how oddly familiar it was.

That…and that crest on her back.

He swore he'd seen it somewhere before.

Such a funny set of creatures on _one_ crest.

 _A lion…_

… _a snake…_

… _a…weasel thing? What was that? A badger?_

 _And some kind of bird._

 _Where the hell—_

Theo's eyes widened and he reached suddenly for his glovebox, a plethora of overstuffed papers falling out and clattering to the floorboards. He glanced up to make sure the light was still red before jamming his foot on the brake and reaching over to rifle through the mixture of papers. Some were new fliers, articles, things Pansy had shoved at him to read or research for this year's a cappella championships that he'd promised her he'd look at right away, others were old random bits from clubbing and performing over the years from where he was from.

There was one thing – _one thing_ – he was looking for from when he used to live up the coast in the Bay Area.

 _One-fucking-thing—_

"AH!" Theo snatched a wadded up program that looked as though it had been crammed to the very back of the compartment and checked the date on it, finding it to be almost three years old. His eyes flicked over the cover to take in the bold, stylized imagery and print: " _Hogwarts School of Music, Theatre, and Dance Proudly Presents . . ."_

Theo flipped through the booklet to find the cast listing of this particular show.

"AH! Ah HA!" He swept over the bio page for the show's headliner _"Miona Granger,"_ his thumb brushing across the black and white picture of a familiar bushy haired girl smirking at the camera.

 _ **"Fuck,"**_ Theo breathed in awe, "Pansy was right, she _is_ our Cinderella."

* * *

 **A/N:** All the pop culture references. ALL OF THEM. I update from vacation. Vacation is nice.


	22. Chapter 22

**Aca-Playlist:** I Kissed A Girl by Katy Perry as performed by The Cast of Glee

 **A/N:** Enter...Pansy. I would apologize but you're too far gone now if you're here...so, enjoy.

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 22**

"I think you should reconsider." Tom was scowling as he followed her into her bedroom that Sunday afternoon, his hands waving about as he tried to dissuade her from her meeting with that awful, _awful_ woman.

Hermione tossed an exasperated sigh over her shoulder at him. "And I think _you_ are overreacting. Honestly, she _CAN'T_ force me to join her bloody group. I'll just humour her, listen to what she's got to say, and politely decline the offer."

"It's _not_ an offer, it's a bleeding enlistment! It's the fucking _draft!_ This woman—"

"Tom!" Hermione's hands clamped down over his shoulders, stopping him from the agitated pacing he'd started; he huffed at her. " _Relax._ " When his grimace deepened, she coaxed him further into her room, kicked the door shut behind her, and nudged him until he flopped heavily onto the edge of her bed. "It'll be perfectly _fine_ , you'll see."

Tom huffed again and folded his arms, his jaw jutting out slightly. "And you'll see that's exactly what it _won't_ be."

She rolled her eyes, tugging off her work cap and apron to toss them onto the bed beside him. He made a face at the coffee and syrup infused garments and she scoffed at the snotty curl of his lip, reaching a hand out to him that he turned a confused stare onto instead. "C'mon then."

Tom stared at her outstretched wiggling fingertips with a skeptical look. "C'mon _what?"_

"I don't have to meet Pansy for another few hours yet and I assume you have charged yourself with getting me there-"

"She's a _menace—_ "

"So it won't take nearly so long as if I had to walk. We've got plenty of time."

"Time for _what?_ "

Hermione waited for him to take her hand and when he still hadn't – and in fact was just staring at it with this look of utter bafflement on his face – she sighed heavily and shrugged, turning her back on him and making her way to the master bath. "To ' _relax_ , _'_ you prat! Gods, how thick are you? It really _has_ been some time for you, hasn't it?"

It wasn't until she'd disappeared from sight through the open door of the bathroom and flung out her shirt, followed by her slacks, followed by her bra did all the pieces click into place and Tom sprung up off the bed practically falling all over himself to join her.

 **. . . . .**

"Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaise…"

Marcus' groan was loud in the silence of the lower level.

"Blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiise…"

When his roommate didn't answer his call, even begrudgingly, he harrumphed. With another groan, Marcus pushed into an upright position and blinked at his clock. He made a slew of other ornery noises when he realized how early in the afternoon it still was yet there was apparently no one at home to care for him.

Sure, he _might_ have been the only one that had indulged in more drinking the night before, but someone could have at least anticipated his horrible hangover and left him a cup of water and some pain killers.

With one final, huffy grunt, Marcus called, "BLAISE!"

And was met with the same resounding silence.

Marcus groused and kicked off his blankets, hopping around one footed when he got tangled in the sheets but eventually made his way out into the living room. Garbed in just an undershirt from the night before and his boxers, Marcus shuffled around, blinking owlishly into what sunlight was streaming into the room. Sighing loudly into the quiet space, Marcus dropped his head back, flapped his arms and made several puffing huffs as he mulled over who else aside from Blaise would have something for his head.

"Abraxas!" he called but was met with the same silence as his earlier attempts.

Marcus huff puffed some more and when he opened his mouth to try again, a noisy thumping came from the direction of Hermione's room.

"Oh! Hermione!" Marcus perked up. Their newest addition to the House 'o Phrase was significantly kinder than his other roommates and had a higher tolerance to his antics thus far. It was with renewed vigor that he made the climb up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Marcus reached her door and knocked softly, calling out to her as well and only heard a muffled noise somewhere from inside in response. Frowning lightly, he tested the knob to find it unlocked and, with a shrug, twisted it to let himself in.

"Hermione?" he called again and, _again_ , heard the muffled sound of running water and a voice – wait, _voices_ – coming from the bathroom. Curious enough to ignore his headache for the moment, Marcus tiptoed to the cracked bathroom door and nestled up to the opening to peer inside.

"Christ, you're gorgeous."

Marcus' eyebrows lifted straight to his hairline when he took in the sight of Hermione perched on the counter top in the master bath, her bushy head pressed back into the mirror, breasts flying free and Tom's head nestled between them in a very familiar way.

Hermione's fingers were tangled in his hair, her thighs riding high on either side of his bare torso, with her hips rolling unabashedly against his trouser clad erection. Marcus watched Tom's mouth clamp down over one of her nipples and a huge grin found its way to his face at the noisy sounds of both Tom's animated licking and suckling and the torrid moans falling from his other roommate's throat.

"Shite—yes—" Hermione groaned out, her fingertips digging into Tom's scalp and her head lolling to one side. " _Fuck_ , tell me, tell me what you're going to do…"

Marcus stifled a giggle when Tom lifted his head from her breast and licked his way down her belly until he was tugging at her waistband with his teeth and hooked his fingers into her panties. "I'm garn'ter rip these straight off of ya…and then-"

And that's about the time Hermione's lidded eyes focused on his shape through the open door and screamed.

" _ **HOLY FUCK, MARCUS WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"**_

Hermione's hands clapped over her breasts and her legs snapped tightly together, forgetting that Tom's head was still there and effectively rang the man's bell so hard that he collapsed to the floor with a shocked squawk of pain.

Marcus was grinning still when he pushed the door the rest of the way open and shrugged. He looked down at Tom who was busy being half-curled into a ball with his head nestled between his knees, hands rubbing at his ears and the look on Marcus' face turned cheerful and goofy. "I was coming to ask you for some pain killers but I didn't expect you two to finally be 'getting on' with each other!"

"Now's not the bloody time for you to practice your English!" Tom growled from the floor, pushing himself into a sitting position. He rubbed at his ears again and pulled his fingers away inspecting them as if he would find blood. " _Dammit_ , Marcus-"

"I'm so happy to see you two together!" The big man clapped his hands together excitedly completely missing the glower from Hermione.

"Marcus," she hissed.

"Mmmm?"

"Get. Out."

Marcus' mouth dropped open in a little "o" for a second before he went back to grinning. "Oh. Right. Sorry. I'll just leave you two so you can get back to having sex."

Hermione scoffed. "Yeah, don't think _that's_ going to be happening now."

Before Marcus had a chance to say anything else, a purely feral sound came from the man still on the tile. He couldn't make out the words but a gut feeling told him to run and vacate the premises with great haste.

A gut feeling along with the spitting and snarling Tom Riddle clambering to his feet with murder in his eyes and a tent in his slacks.

 **. . . . .**

"This is a bad idea."

Hermione rolled her eyes for the billionth time and smacked Tom on the arm. "Will you _stop_? Also, why are you wearing that?" she asked, eying his outfit.

He gave her his best glower and fingered the cuffed sleeves of his performance shirt. "Because, unlike you, I understand what's about to happen here."

She blinked at him, his suspenders, his perfectly tied bowtie, and neatly parted hair. If she took an extra couple of moments to appreciate the way the dark locks framed his face so nicely, accentuating the sharp angles of his face he didn't notice and she certainly didn't mention it. "A turf war? You two going to have a sing off of some sort?" Her lips twitched suddenly and she was beaming, barely restraining the teasing lilt to her voice. "Oh! Are you two going to battle over me? Over my 'aca-virtue?'"

Tom glared but said nothing, tromping past her through the food court of the mall Hermione had so foolishly agreed to meet Pansy in.

Hermione watched him stomp on towards a table set suspiciously off in the far back corner of the eatery and a black haired figure occupying it.

The way he tore through the place on a mission.

The way his shoulders were set and tensed for a fight.

The way his jaw jutted forward, ready for conflict.

He _was_ , she realized, he _WAS_ preparing to fight for her in some _weird_ a cappella fashion.

 _Was this a thing?_

 _This was totally a THING._

 _Holy shite. This was a thing._

With a blatant look of mystified wonder on her face, Hermione followed after him, rolling up to his heels shortly after he'd stopped before the woman that, she assumed, was the infamous "Pansy."

This woman was reclined with her long, slender legs, smooth and lightly tanned, stretching out from shorts so short the pocket linings flapped against her bare thighs. Her feet were up and crossed at the ankles in large chunky black boots resting on the seat of a chair across from her own. Hermione quirked a brow during her inspection of the young woman when she realized that she was wearing a leotard – wait, no, it was a swimsuit – with a skeleton print as a top beneath a light denim button down she was, in turn, sporting as a jacket. Her mouth twitched and she bit back the urge to snark at the outfit if only to cover the fact that she was jealous she hadn't thought of the idea first.

"Parkinson," Tom grit out tersely.

Pansy turned an impish grin up towards Tom, the expression looking especially devious with how brightly it beamed from behind the colorful straw tucked into the corner of her mouth. She took a long sip from her drink and moved a pair of round rimmed glasses from her nose to settle neatly on the top of her head. Her cheery disposition only intensified when she got a good look at Tom's outfit.

"Riddle," Pansy purred sweetly, "No need for the battle gear, Tom. I just wanted to talk to your new lady, you didn't have to show up ready for a tussle." She removed her feet from the other chair and sat up, her eyes zeroing in on Hermione instantly with a hungry glint to them. "Speaking of—" Pansy hopped to her feet and thrust a hand out in Hermione's direction. "—you're Hermione! Pansy Parkinson, so pleased to meet you! I'm a _big_ fan."

Hermione stared hard at Pansy's outstretched hand and, ignoring the angry glare burning holes into the side of her head from the man to her right, hesitantly gave it an obligatory shake. "Fan? Afraid I don't really follow."

"Of your performance!"

Neither Pansy nor Tom noticed the way Hermione paled at the word "performance" but when she didn't respond right away Pansy nudged her playfully, _eagerly._ "You know! At the Hog's Head! _God,_ that was amazing!"

Hermione breathed out a subtle sigh of relief but only managed a lame, "I got arrested."

Pansy's mouth fell open in a gasp followed quickly by a loud laugh. "Yeah, Abbie told me about that! That's really unfortunate—you sang beautifully! It so happens that I'm looking for another soprano-"

"Mezzo," Tom corrected automatically. He flushed when he felt Hermione's surprised stare on him.

Pansy practically squealed. "A _MEZZO!_ Ohmigod! _**Yes!**_ Oh, you're perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect! How about you give me another sample? OH, can you do duets? Let's do a duet!"

"Your doting concern over my traumatic experience is remarkable," Hermione responded flatly.

The other girl shrugged and tossed her hands out at her sides dismissively. "It can't be all _that_ traumatic. Abbie also told me that you're a bit of a vigilante, so it's probably not even your first time in jail!"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Your lack of tact is also remarkable. Have you met Blaise?"

"Of course! He's marvelous. Now about that song sample—"

Tom stepped up and placed a hand on Pansy's shoulder as politely as he could, nudging her away from his flatmate. "We didn't come for that. We just came to decline whatever crazy offer you've got it in your mind to extend to Granger. She thought it more proper to decline in person so here we are...and we decline. Goodbye Pansy."

Pansy huffed. "I don't make 'crazy offers,' Tom Riddle. All of my offers are aca- _ **mazing**_ _._ "

Hermione's brow furrowed and was mouthing the word "aca-mazing" in astonishment even as Tom tried to usher her away.

"Well, we didn't come for that either. Mostly, I came to show her how insane you are so she knows better next time than to make some idiotic arrangements against my advisory."

"Hey!" Hermione piped up and smacked his hands away. " _Right here_ , you know? You're so bloody rude."

Pansy grinned widely. "He is, isn't he? You really can't trust him, as you can see. I mean, do I look insane?"

Hermione let her eyes scan Pansy's figure from head to toe and back again. She opened her mouth to comment but hesitated on her response; Pansy's mouth twitched in a frown.

" _Anyway,_ " the girl said, looking between Hermione and Tom, "Just one song. Just _one_ song and I'll go. I promise."

Tom looked to the bushy haired woman who had shifted from an expression of ambivalence to annoyance at his earlier commentary and sighed.

 _She was still so fresh,_ Tom thought, _she could still be free of this woman's plans…but something would have to give._

If he could just divert her attentions, if he could get her at her own game...

He mulled over several thoughts carefully.

If Pansy got her own special taste of Hermione…there was no turning back…she wouldn't release her clutches until—

Tom brightened and said at last, "One song."

"What?"

" _What?"_

Both Hermione and Pansy said at once, staring at him with disbelief and skepticism respectively.

Tom nodded to his flatmate and rested a reassuring hand on her shoulder, noting with a special sort of satisfaction that she actually did relax some at his touch. "Don't worry. We'll get this done and be on our way."

Pansy, still staring at Tom with narrowed eyes, asked, "What are you playing at, Riddle?"

He shrugged. "You said one song, you get one song. I know, better than most, that you won't stop until you've gotten what you want, Parkinson. I'm just choosing to get you out of the way sooner rather than later so you can leave my—" He stopped himself clumsily, earning a quirked brow from both of the girls. "—so you can leave Hermione alone."

A terrible, horrible, _evil_ little smile spread across Pansy's face at his fumble but she pressed on, "Alright, then." She turned to Hermione with that hunger back in her eyes. "Do you like Katy Perry?"

Hermione blinked at the woman that was leaning _far_ too far into her personal space bubble. "Not particularly, no."

Pansy scoffed, opened her mouth ready to detail the wonders of the musical artist but thought better of it with the hard glare Tom was still shooting in her direction. "What about Glee?"

"…Glee?"

An indignant noise burbled out of Pansy's throat but she dug her heels in and breathed deeply. " _I Kissed A Girl,_ do you know it?"

She paused and eyed Tom who gave her another nod and, sighing, Hermione nodded. "Yeah…I know it." She was fairly certain the noise that came out of Pansy could only be described as a _"squee."_

" _WONDERFUL!_ Not really a duet but you can just…join in any time. Wherever it tickles your fancy. Or just when I say."

And before Hermione had any other opportunities for which to protest – and to her mortification – Pansy started singing in the middle of the eatery. She had to give it to the crazy bitch, though, she had a set of pipes the likes of which Hermione hadn't heard in _some_ time.

Pansy's face was alight with anticipatory excitement. _**"This was never the way I planned, not my intention! I got so brave, drink in hand—"**_ She took a lunging step towards Hermione who reacted by stumbling back past Tom and knocking into some chairs; Pansy grinned eagerly. _**"Lost my discretion!"**_

Hermione righted the chairs and scowled at the other woman who was moving in once more.

" _ **It's not what I'm used to…just wanna try you on. I'm curi-ous for you…"**_

Pansy's hand was reaching towards her – towards her _head_ – for a few fluffy strands of her curls; Hermione slapped it away. "Stop that!"

"Join me, Hermione!" Pansy was nearly bouncing on her toes. _ **"Caught my attention!"**_

Hermione's lip curled but she readied herself to get that particular sideshow act over with, making a mental note to apologize to Tom about doubting his reservations towards this meeting, but his smooth tenor took up in her place, joining Pansy instead.

" _ **I kissed a girl and I liked it!"**_

Pansy's eyes bugged when Tom, who she'd been so happy to forget was even there, set himself back in her line of sight with an all too smug look on his face.

Hermione could only imagine how _she_ looked while listening to him and the fluid sound of lyrics she never even knew she needed to hear sung by a man.

 _A man named Tom Riddle..._

 _...in his little outfit._

Hermione swallowed thickly.

" _ **The taste of her cherry chapstick—"**_

"What are you doing, Riddle?!" Pansy shouted angrily.

The sly smile that spread across his face was positively evil. "You never specified _who_ had to sing, just agreed on one song. Let's get it done," he said sweetly, pouring himself into the lyrics as if it were any of his other performances.

His fingertips brushed across his lips and danced down his throat. " _ **I kissed a girl just to try it, I hope my boyfriend don't mind it. It felt so wrong! It felt so right! Don't mean I'm in love to-night."**_

Hermione caught his eye in the midst of his evident pleasure in winning…whatever it was that was happening; she still wasn't sure what to call it. An embarrassing gasp escaped her when his lips pursed and his tongue ran across the tips of his teeth, bringing back some very vivid memories of where those had been not that long ago. Tom turned, winking at her before turning his attention back to Pansy and she felt a heat spread through her cheeks as well as the parts of her that'd been denied his other attentions by their bothersome housemate.

" _ **I kissed a girl and I liked it!"**_ Tom reached out and tapped Pansy on the nose. _**"I liked it."**_

She growled and snapped her teeth at his retreating finger. "That's not _fair_ , you prick! I don't need to listen to YOU sing! You and your cronies have taken Nationals twice in a row!" Pansy stomped a foot and pointed at Hermione. "I want _HER!_ "

Tom shrugged and tweaked the edges of his bowtie, preening a bit at the acknowledgement of Rebellious Phrase's awards. "These are _your_ terms, Pans. It's okay, we can stop now if you're scared—"

The next words to leave Pansy's lips were snarled. _**"No! I don't even know your name—"**_

" _ **It doesn't matter."**_

She took a menacing step to him, glaring as hard as she possibly could at the man towering over her with his smug-as-shit mug. _**"You're my exper-i-mental game—"**_

Tom's chest puffed up, his smirk stretching into a wide, _wide_ smile. _**"Just human nature."**_

" _ **It's not what good girls do—"**_

" _ **Not how they should behave,"**_ he purred mockingly.

" _ **My head gets so confused—"**_ She sneered and pressed her chest to his.

" _ **Hard to obe-y!"**_ Tom and Pansy both glowered, singing the words together with bristling animosity towards the other.

They postured in such a way that Hermione felt it really _was_ some sort of battle.

It was harsh.

It was intimate.

It felt like she shouldn't even be _watching_.

Hermione had never seen anything like it before, not even in her years at Hogwarts when the whole class competed for solos and leads. Her eyes roved over Tom again of their own accord and her lip found its way between her teeth with the way he was so aggressively poised between herself and Pansy.

She'd always hated it, hated the whole _"machismo"_ nonsense. She wasn't a damsel. She wasn't a weak woman by any definition!

But this…

Hermione eyed him again, shoulders back, chest out, spine straight, singing for her…and in that _outfit_ no less _…_

She may or may not have made an involuntary sound of appreciation in the back of her throat, but it was really the _faintest_ little thing…

Pansy's eyes darted past Tom at the noise and they widened immediately when she realized the gooey way Hermione was staring at the back of his head. _Oh… What have we got here? You've actually caught one, Riddle, good for you._ Her smirk returned with a vengeance. _Good for **me**..._

"You know, Tom, this reminds me of when we used to sing together," she said loud enough for Hermione to hear and noted the stiffening of her shoulders.

His look of displeasure intensified and he only then seemed to realize their proximity to one another. "You said you'd never bring that up," he muttered acerbically, implying with his tone that she should lower her voice.

"Did I?" Pansy said sweetly. "Maybe I merely _implied_ I wouldn't. These things I say, you know, they can be interpreted in _so_ many ways."

Tom's eyes flicked to Hermione who was staring hard at them both. Her lips were pursed in that same expression she'd worn when his phone had blasted them out of their first "moment" together flashing Pansy's name across the screen.

He cursed and stepped back. "You bit—"

She followed him in his retreat, cutting him off loudly. _**"I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry chapstick! I kissed a girl just to try it!"**_ Pansy leaned in and ran her hands over Tom's suspenders briefly before he smacked them aside. _ **"I hope my boyfriend don't mind it."**_

Tom sneered at the tiny woman and turned to retrieve his not-girlfriend. "Come on, Hermione, let's get out of here."

Pansy chortled. " _NOW_ who's scared, Tom Riddle?"

With a growl, he whirled back around. _**"If felt so wrong!"**_

" _ **It felt so right!"**_ Pansy purred, reaching for him again. _ **  
**_

He batted her hands away once more before clamping his own down on Pansy's upper arms, the words rough and ragged and unmistakably angry. _ **"Don't mean I'm in love to-night!"**_

Pansy chanced another glance to Hermione, delighting in the way her prize was homed in on Tom's hands at her arms. Hermione's gaze raked up the pair of them and Pansy waited until she held her stare before she leaned so very close to Tom, singing silkily in his ear, lips brushing his skin. _**"I kissed a girl and I liked it. I liked it—"**_

If anyone were to have asked Hermione what had been running through her head at that very moment, she wasn't entirely sure if she could have explained it. All she _did_ know, was that many things _seemed_ to happen all at once.

All of them had also _seemed_ like a good idea at the time - as many of her ideas did.

She was suddenly there next to Tom and Pansy.

She had one hand on his chest and the other was firmly fastened around Pansy's _face_ , effectively palming her and that snakelike smile she'd been wearing up until that point.

She'd shoved one, possibly both of them – that part was still foggy – and was standing between them, red faced with a fire in her eyes that made the other woman flinch back from even through the expression Hermione would later come to understand was excitement.

…possibly lust?

Finally, the perfectly rational thought of _"if I have to sing to get rid of this beast,_ _ **so be it**_ _"_ fluttered through her head.

Mistakes were made that day...and Hermione Granger's fate was cemented in aca-history.

 _ **"Us girls we are so mag-i-cal—"**_ Hermione shoved Pansy back again.

Pansy stumbled, tripping over her own feet.

" _ **Soft skin, red lips, so kiss-a-ble—"**_

Tom watched Hermione close the distance between her and Parkinson. She stepped so deliberately, one foot placed precisely in front of the other with her weight only resting on the ball of each one. She had her torso up, chest out, shoulders up, elbows out, and her hands splayed at her hips in a way that _absolutely_ commanded attention.

It reminded him a little of a Xenomorph right before it was due to attack.

If he'd been a hair frightened at the display, he'd never admit it aloud.

If he'd been _more_ than a hair aroused by it…well, he'd not say anything about that either.

" _ **Hard to resist, so touch-a-ble—"**_ Hermione pushed Pansy so hard that the girl tumbled into the nearest chair and proceeded to gawk, completely awestruck.

" _ **Too good to deny it! Ain't no big deal, it's innoce—nt!"**_

When Hermione belted the words at her, Pansy could feel the heat behind each and every one of them. She felt the jealousy she'd rattled free caressing her skin and shivered with delight as Hermione's emotion poured over her. Pansy's skin prickled with goosebumps and she took it all in with hazy, lidded eyes, completely unperturbed by the way Hermione was looking as if she was ready to peel her apart.

" _ **I kissed a girl and I liked it! The taste of her cherry chapstick! I kissed a girl just to try it! I hope my boyfriend don't mind it!"  
**_  
Tom shook himself free from his entrancement and tried too late to intervene. He attempted to move himself between the girls and only got a snarl from Hermione and a mouth full of her bushy head when she blocked his path.

He knew, right down to the _second_ , when Hermione was truly lost to Pansy's wicked clutches: when the black haired girl shut her eyes and cooed as though she was adrift in Heaven with only Hermione's voice to guide her and their voices harmonized beautifully even as one roared fiercely and the other smoothed it's rough edges with an almost indecent coating of pleasure.

" _ **It felt so wrong!**_

 _ **"It felt so right!**_

 _ **"Don't mean I'm in love tonight!**_

 _ **"I kissed a girl and I liked it!"**_

Tom, with a newly panicked expression, yanked Hermione to him by the wrist. He successfully snapped her out of her threatening pose, earning him a startled look, and snatched her up in a fireman's carry. "FUCK! Good going, Granger, now it's time to run—"

And he fled with a confused, sputtering Hermione draped over his shoulders like a fashionable stole.

Pansy rose from her seat, stumbling a few steps after the departing couple, a squeak of loss escaping her with each one taken. She drew her lip between her teeth and another shiver passed through her as she whispered, _"I liked it."_

It took Pansy several moments to compose herself and, with the hand not cupping and lightly massaging her own breast, swiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

"She's it. She's _The One."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Pansy Parkinson ladies and gentlemen! *applauds* It has truly become an aca-story now! Hope you had fun with this. :) I am moving back to trying to make progress on Persephone so updates for AA will probably not be as frequent, but they will still crop up because FLUFFY! For anyone that wasn't already aware, I am on Tumblr fairly regularly if you get bored and feel like asking questions or generally shooting the shit. User name is dulce-de-leche-go. See you there?

Slik, _**ACA-OUT!**_


	23. Chapter 23

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 23**

Hermione was glaring hard at Tom as he paced around the rug in The Chamber. He'd already made an array of faces, an assortment of noises, and said a slew of very disgruntled things post-meeting with "the witch," as he'd taken to calling Pansy.

Hermione had heard his billionth _"idiotic for not listening to me"_ when she finally snapped. "What the hell is wrong with you? Do you make it a point to insult all the girls who keep your company?" She huffed and tossed up her hands before crossing her arms over her chest. "And anyway, she seemed relatively normal over the phone!"

Tom ran a hand over his face and growled. " _ **Normal?**_ Are you bloody insane?! Parkinson in no way, shape, or form resembles anything _remotely_ in the category of 'normal!' How bleeding thick can you get?!"

She pointed with an accusatory look as if to say _"see?"_

He threw up his hands this time and sighed heavily, moving back to his pacing. " _Fine!_ I'm sorry, okay? I just—" Tom groaned and finally, reluctantly, said, "It's not like there have been many."

"There haven't been many _WHAT_?" Hermione groused, arms folded again.

"Girls! _Fuck_ —what do you think?"

She furrowed her brow. "What?"

"Don't make me say it again, Granger."

When she looked at him he had his typical scowl in place and was looking at her seriously, though there was a little bit of something else in his eyes…something defensive. She frowned. "What? Not many girls? You've not had girlfriends before or something?"

Tom scoffed. "Of course I have, but it _obviously_ hasn't ended very well up to now, has it?"

Hermione's frown deepened. "What do you mean? Why not?"

He sucked his teeth in annoyance. "You really enjoy emasculating a bloke, don't you?" Tom fussed and paced some more, grumping and growling. "Girls," he said, "Women! They don't really _like_ men in a cappella groups now do they? Shit, most of them think I'm bloody _gay_ until I show anything beyond conversational interest. Being a man that sings is all well and good until they find out you're in some sort of-of-of _barbershop quartet!_ "

"There are five of you so it wouldn't be a quartet, it'd be a quin—"

"You _know_ what I mean!" Tom continued on his circular path, wearing a hole in the rug fibers. "It starts out all well and good and then they find out I'm—I'm _this—_ " He motioned to himself dramatically in his signature Oxford, neatly pressed dress slacks, suspenders, and dark plaid bowtie. "—and it goes downhill from there."

"So, wait, you—"

"Dumped, Granger! Every bloody time. Shite." He stopped pacing again, turning full on towards her and ran a hand back through his hair then pointed at her with a glare. "You don't know what it's like to feel like that! To have to hide your passion from the people you thought liked you and pretend to be something else, only to have them laugh in your face or toss you away when you—"

She gave him a _very_ pointed look with her pursed lips and a quirked brow that managed to halt him mid-sentence.

"Okay so you _do_ …know _precisely_ that, in fact." Tom deflated somewhat, shoulders relaxing only slightly. "You're a bit of an anomaly seeing as how you never liked me from the beginning. _Then_ you found out what I do only to do…whatever the hell it is we're doing now." He swirled his hands between them in an inclusive gesture, that frustrated scowly glare still on his face.

"Is _that_ what you think, then?" she asked with obvious surprise in her voice.

He just glowered – no, pouting, he was actually _pouting._

Hermione snorted, shook her head, and reached out to him, resting both palms lightly on his chest to smooth their way up to his shoulders. She was admiring the firmness of the muscles beneath his adorable outfit when she felt the heat of his gaze shift to her face. When she looked back up, he appeared puzzled, his confusion evident even as her hands looped around the back of his neck, fingers interlinking with each other and sneaking up into the edges of the dark wavy locks at his nape.

"Snogging, Tom Riddle. You and I would call this _snogging_."

His brows went up, mouth dropped open to say something but then her lips were on his. She had to stand on her toes to reach, leaning into him for balance. It didn't take Tom long to overcome his shock and let his lids flutter shut, his own hands coming up to steady her at the waist.

 _Gods,_ _she was soft every-fucking-where._

His mouth shut as soon as he understood what was happening and in doing so nipped her bottom lip.

The sound she made as he did was positively exquisite.

Hermione leaned more heavily into him, her toes now barely touching the floor as she molded her front to his, her arms draped more firmly over him to use as support so she could return his unintentional nip with a very purposeful bite of her own; he groaned. Her teeth that normally worried the poor plump flesh of her own lip turned to worrying his and his hands clamped around her hips.

Hermione gasped eagerly at the harsh dig of his fingertips into her sides and she hoisted herself even farther up his body until he was supporting her beneath her rear. Those neatly toned thighs of hers came up to wrap around him and she made another delighted noise in the back of her throat when she felt him through his trousers hardening more as the seconds ticked by.

Tom supported her weight easily and didn't stumble until she made a throaty, sweet sound – something caught between a moan and a sigh – into his mouth and rolled her hips in a slow, languid movement over his now throbbing length. He let out a muffled groan and his steps stuttered to the nearest solid object, having to brace her against the edge of a small runner table in the room. His grip tightened further on her legs as he tried to reposition her and she simply responded by grinding against him again with more insistence.

 _I'll die_ , he thought, _I'll outright just die if she keeps doing that._

Reluctantly, he pulled his lips away, pressing his forehead to hers as he heaved embarrassingly labored breaths for as little as they'd done. Tom ran one of his hands up her body appreciatively, ending the path by tangling in her messy curls. "Hermione," he licked his lips and panted, "you—"

" _Like_ you," she interrupted, just as breathless as he, yet the slightest bit more put together. "Sod all those other bitches because as I mentioned before, I _fancy_ you." Hermione nuzzled her nose against his and grinned. "I fancy you quite a lot, actually…from _this-_ "

She released her hold on his neck only to run her hands between them, over his chest, down then back up again to tug at his bowtie until it came loose.

"—to these—"

Hermione danced that touch down and out towards his suspenders, practically purring before snapping them playfully and earning a sharp intake of breath from the man tucked between her thighs. She snuck her fingers beneath the straps and shoved them off with more than a little decisive force.

"—to this," she said the last more softly as placed her fingertips back over his smirking lips, smiling back when he pursed them to give a little kiss to the pads. Her eyes came back to his and she said plainly, seriously, and inherent urgency, "I want you to shag me."

Any confidence he'd bolstered those moments before whooshed out of him with a sudden strange sense of panic-slash-excitement. He couldn't _possibly_ have heard that correctly. "S-s-sorry, what?"

Hermione leaned back onto the table and brought up her hands, signing along with the message she repeated and enunciated more clearly.

"I."

She gestured to herself.

"Want you—"

She pointed at him.

"—to have _sex_ —"

Her hands made a very bold and obvious set of signs that a blind person could have interpreted.

"—with me."

She pointed at herself again before resuming running her hands over his chest.

Tom was having the damnedest time concentrating with the way she kept rubbing and batted her hands away softly. "I _know_ what 'shag' means, I'm not Marcus."

She hesitated for half a second and, for the first time that evening, Hermione looked a little nervous as a terrible thought ran through her mind. "Of course," she started with a hint of worry creeping into her words, "if you don't _want_ to—"

It was his turn to give her a _look._ Tom punctuated it with a grind of his pelvis so firm that it made her breath hitch and her lids flutter.

Hermione loosed a strangled groan. "Oh, _good_. I was worried there for a second…" The tops of her cheeks and nose pinked in a beautiful blush. Her words also started to falter and fade into mumbled, barely coherent things as he kept grinding, kept rolling and writhing in a much more intimate interpretation of his stage show - her own private performance. "I've been told…'m a bit bossy…"

"You are," Tom agreed. He swept her curls off of her cheeks so he could lean in and brush his lips across hers once more, letting his tongue stroke a wet path over them to taste her. When he spoke again, he'd nipped his way to her ear, took her lobe between his teeth, and snuck his hands beneath the hem of her shirt. "And I'm fairly certain I fancy that about _you_ …" His breath was hot on her neck making the fine hairs there prickle and his voice had dropped into a lower, huskier teasing rumble. _"Yor not bad fer a bossy bitch..."_

Hermione purred contentedly, already having made it to the buttons of his shirt to set those excessively worked pectorals of his free for her consumption. With an appreciative coo when she reached his far-too-many-segments of abdominal muscles, she murmured, " _Rickle_?"

He was shrugging off his top at her insistence and left his new favorite spot to nibble only long enough to tug his undershirt off too when he answered breathily. _"Yes, dove?"_

She ran her hands up over his heavily tattooed arms as soon as they were exposed, shivering with delight once she got to the toned stretch of his biceps, squeezing them and tightening the press of her legs on his sides. The growl that left her was nearly inhuman and she lunged forward to take his lip between her teeth again, working it over quite thoroughly, dragging her tongue along it, dipping it past to tease and taste him before wrenching his head away with a hand curled roughly in his hair.

Hermione caught the way his eyes were glazed over and darkened. Her breasts felt heavy at the way he was staring and they ached for that wicked – but not vile – tongue of his again, for his _touch._ She wasn't entirely sure that she'd ever stopped aching for him elsewhere since their interruption earlier in the day.

He was half naked with his clothed cock rubbing and rubbing and _rubbing_ …

Her knickers were soaked clean through…

 _Yet…for some reason, he wasn't shagging her yet._

She tightened her grip in his hair and the tips of her nails bit into his scalp. _"Up the apples –_ _ **NOW**_ _,"_ she hissed.

Tom's eyes rolled back at the strained, husky, accented demand and, with a bruising grip, hefted Hermione back into his arms. He barreled out of The Chamber and climbed the stairs to his room faster than he ever had before.

Nobody would stop him this time – he'd kill them first.

Tom barreled through his bedroom door, slammed it shut behind him, and locked it. He contemplated tucking a chair against the knob but ended up falling with Hermione into his unmade bed before it was an option. It was with a savagery she'd yet to see from him that he tore her clothing from her body and left her only in her knickers kneeling on the bed, as he kicked free of his trousers.

Hermione watched him hungrily, not even bothering to hide the appreciative inspection of his lean, muscled frame. Her eyes danced over the dark ink that covered his arms from shoulder to knuckle, taking a moment to trace the intricately made lines and shading before focusing shamelessly on his tented shorts. She reached for him, fingertips smoothing over the ridges of his stomach, down past the dimples near his pelvis that made her brain go fuzzy, to skirt the edge of his waistband.

"Off,"she demanded.

Tom shucked them off and kicked them clear across the room. Almost as an afterthought, his posture stiffened when Hermione looked at him, hard and nude and completely at attention – for _her._

He _might_ have had a moment of insecurity.

He had just a moment where maybe, just _maybe_ , he thought he was too eager.

He'd just met her, after all. He didn't know her middle name, he didn't know what her favorite color was, all he really knew about her was that she was trouble, had been homeless, she could _really_ fucking sing,and for some reason or another, she'd dated _Malfoy_ of all people.

That decision alone, he thought, should caused him pause.

That alone, should have made him have _perhaps_ a bit more caution.

Maybe it was just a stupid, young decision – Lord knew he'd made enough of those in his life to that point – there were so many possibilities.

Still, they barely knew each other and if he had known from the start what he was getting into when he offered her the room—

All of those thoughts came to a screeching halt when Hermione's little hand reached out to run over his abdomen then sweep down to wrap her fingers around him.

Tom groaned loudly when she squeezed and stroked his length with completely unashamed confidence. He hissed out his pleasure and an unintelligible muttering that she couldn't translate, though it _sounded_ positive.

Hermione's tongue came out to whet her lips when she saw him, when she felt him, when she felt the slick bead of moisture that had taken to trailing down the underside of his head _._ There was something heady and downright delicious about having the tall, inked, pierced, and generally unpleasantly dispositioned roommate of hers standing, practically panting for her with his cock in her hand, apparently ready to fuck her right where she knelt. It was the furthest they'd gotten with their attempts so far.

Her head shot up at that thought and a new sense of urgency ran through her.

"Condom," she said abruptly.

 _Nobody_ would interrupt this time – she'd kill them first.

Tom blinked at her dazedly, head coming back up from where it'd drooped backwards after she'd found a sensual rhythm to her strokes. "Mm'wha?"

Hermione removed her hand and smacked his chest with the back of it until he was looking at her, slightly more alert. " _Condom_. Now. You are not leaving this room until you've shagged me and we need one."

 _Oh. Right. Of course. Perfect sense. Brilliant.  
_

He opened his mouth to reply and was momentarily distracted by the way she was licking some of the excess moisture off of her palm and fingers. He hadn't realized he'd drifted away again until he saw her staring at him with her hands on her hips.

… _what?_

One of her finely manicured eyebrows ticked up in annoyance and he remembered. _"CONDOM._ Yes. Sorry."

Tom managed to peel himself away from the spot where he'd been hypnotized by her smooth, silky looking skin that he knew – _he just_ _ **knew**_ – was really as soft as it looked. The way her big mess of curls framed her and stretched all the way down to her hips in those tight spirals continued to send urges to bury his face in them and inhale the strange combination of coffee house and woman that he'd already come to recognize as strictly ' _Hermione_.'

He ripped open his bedside drawer and shifted the contents inside all around. He had one. He _had_ to have one.

 _Come on…c'mon, c'mon, c'mon…FUCK! God, if you exist, don't forsake me—please, let me have one._

Tom was doing his best to keep his movements from becoming frantic and panicked lest he upset Hermione and ruin his chances. He tossed a look over his shoulder to see if Hermione was watching him struggle only to see her, feet back on his carpet but with her back to him and slipping her knickers down past her hips. His mouth dried out as the thought crossed his mind of having her bent over the edge of his bed so he could get his face nestled in all those sweet curls as he took her and enjoy her nicely rounded rump pressed flush against him at the same time.

His prick twitched.

He turned back to the drawer with urgency and ripped the entire thing out of the stand, dumping its contents onto his bedroom floor. His face went pale and dread coiled in the pit of his stomach as his energized searching kept turning up the same results: _**nothing.**_

Hermione, after his loud growl of frustration, looked over and understood. Her mouth dropped open. " _No._ " She came over to search the pile with her eyes as well. "NO," she said again. "You don't have one." It wasn't a question. She said it again in astonishment and then smacked him on the arm with a perturbed look upon her face. "Why don't you have one?!"

"OW!" Tom yelped and rubbed at his bicep before turning a grimace on her. "I haven't shagged a woman in ages, Granger! Fuck…and how was I supposed to know that you would want a shag today?!"

"Maybe because we've been trying to for the past couple of days! What were you planning on doing?"

He huffed at her point and said, "Well, why don't _you_ have one if you were so set on shagging?"

Hermione sniffed at his _counter_ point. "I may not be homeless anymore, but I'm still poor. Also, I was in jail, let's not forget that. Where's the time?"

" _S'not like you don't just nick everything anyway…"_ he mumbled then let out an exasperated sigh.

They both stared at the pile of junk scattered on his floor as though it would make the little sleeve of latex that they needed appear at any moment. Tom could feel himself softening already, and quickly at that.

" _Fuck!_ " He said once more, with feeling.

"OH!" Hermione exclaimed, surprising the man at her side and she took off towards the door to his room.

"Hermione?" he asked, a hand still over his heart at the fright she'd given him a moment before. When she ripped open his door, he nearly screeched. "Hermione! You're starkers! You can't just go out there with no clothes on!"

Pausing in the doorway, she rolled her eyes and fixed him with a pointed glare and an index finger jabbed in his direction. "I told you! You don't leave this room until you've shagged me! Wait here or I'll hit you again!"

Tom decided not to think too long on how his cock jumped at that particular threat, livening his softening member once more. Instead, he walked to toe the very edge of the threshold to the hall and watch her tromp down a ways to their roommate's door.

Abraxas was out, he'd been called away to pander to Pansy's 'needs' after her meeting with Hermione and he'd been gone for a significant amount of time. Hermione waltzed right into his room with no visible reservations about doing so and Tom sputtered.

"What are you _doing?_ " he hissed as if Abraxas would hear.

" _I'm trying to find out where Abraxas keeps his condoms!"_ She called from within his room.

"He doesn't keep those here!" Tom yelled out. "Pansy never comes over to the house. EVER."

" _Shite. What about Marcus then?"_

"I don't know! I don't keep that close an eye on my mates' extra-curricular activities! Hermione, can you get _out_ of there?!"

In a flash, Hermione reemerged from Abraxas' room only to dart down the stairs – still completely and utterly naked. She went straight for Marcus' door without even thinking twice about it.

Tom inched out of his room and called, "HERMIONE!"

" _I SAID DON'T—FUCKING—MOVE, TOM RIDDLE! If I see you out of that room, I swear to God—"_

He glanced down to where his toe had crossed through into the hallway and a deviant part of him wondered if she was serious. Muscles in his thighs twitched, his sac tightened, and a pleasurable sensation shivered through him at the thought until he remembered the blotchy black eye she'd given him when she cold cocked him in the face during their second meeting.

He pulled his toe back inside.

Hermione rattled the knob to Marcus' room, only to find it locked. She pounded on the door with an open palm and then pressed her ear to it searching for any signs of life. All she heard from within were intense, rattling snores. She grunted and slammed her hands on the door again only to have the same results. With a stream of curses, she snarled and hit the door with her fists, looking down the hall and trying to recall if there was anything close by that she could use to jimmy the door open – she might scare the man to death…but it was _IMPORTANT_ goddammit!

In the midst of all sorts of ornery noise making, she realized that Blaise was standing in the hall, fresh from a shower and staring at her strangely with a towel fastened around his waist and one smaller one adorning his head like a habit.

"Blaise!" Hermione exclaimed, closing the distance between them in several serious strides. She stood before him, looking up intensely into his confused face. "I need your help."

He looked down at her and her stark naked self, using the small towel to start to dry off his head. "I thought we were clear that _this—_ " He motioned to her nude figure. "Isn't really my thing." His head tilted as he examined a spot on her pelvis and added, "That's a cute tattoo, though! What is it? Some kind of hippy ring thing? Or…a snake? Is that a snake?"

"Orobouros," she corrected, "And thank you! Now I need you to help me. I'm trying to get into Marcus' room to find where he keeps his condoms. Tom doesn't have any!"

"Huh. Well it's just as well because they'd probably be expired anyway." Blaise shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure that Marcus _has_ any, but I have some you can have."

Hermione perked up though she asked with some surprise, " _You_ have condoms? But don't you just…" She made an interesting, if not lewd, picture with her hands.

Blaise scoffed indignantly. "Just because I'm gay does NOT excuse unsafe sex, Missy!" He led her the rest of the way to his room and rummaged in his nightstand a moment before procuring a slim, unopened box of condoms and handing them to her. He then folded his arms across his chest, sticking out his jaw, and added, "I have a _three_ date rule before flying free I'll have you know!"

Hermione turned the box over in her hand a few times, eying the packaging, then said, "Is that because there are three to a box?"

His color deepened in his neck and around his ears. " _NO_ it is _NOT_ because there are three to a box! It's because three is a good number!" he snapped, hissing something that sounded like _"ass"_ under his breath. "Now go fuck your boy toy before I take them back!"

Hermione grinned and left him, bounding back up the stairs and ripping open the box before she even reached the top. "Thanks Blaise!"

When she reached the top of the stairs, she heard a hurried rustling in Tom's room and looked up in time to see him moving away from the doorway at a suspiciously swift rate. Hermione's eyes narrowed and she tromped back inside, locking up behind her.

"Got 'em!" She grinned proudly only to falter when she saw the funny look he was sporting. "What?"

Tom shrugged his big, broad shoulders and glanced down at his hips then away, bashfully.

She followed the path his eyes had taken and a high pitched squeak ripped its way out of her. "Oh…oh, no, I think _NOT!_ " she exclaimed looking at his mostly flaccid cock and tossed the condoms past him to the bedsheets.

He opened his mouth to provide her with significant sarcasm and snark, only to see her coming at him with a distinct look of determination in her eyes; it was enough to make him backpedal at least a handful of steps until the back of his legs bumped the bed. "Wh-what are you doing?"

Hermione stopped in front of him and they stood toe to toe, both of them completely nude, and she looked as stubborn as she'd ever been. With one hard shove to his chest, Tom went falling backwards onto his mattress, arms windmilling in surprise as he dropped.

Tom grunted and propped himself onto his elbows, he was wearing a very sour sort of look. "Hermione!" he growled, "What in the bleeding hells— _oh._ "

His question never needed to be finished seeing as how his flatmate had already climbed onto the bed by the point at which he'd thought to ask it and was positioning herself over him, ass toward his face and _her_ face towards his privates.

Hermione straddled him, a knee on either side of his chest, and bent her upper body down over his hips and, without any further fanfare, popped him in her mouth.

Tom hissed and groaned, his hands slapping onto her ass as she gave him a wondrous view of all _sorts_ of things from that angle. It was an odd sensation to be in her mouth with the ball of her tongue stud rolling, rubbing, and massaging him back into hardness, but it was bloody _**magnificent**_ ; he could practically hear the sound of his blood flow redirecting. She was humming in an all too pleased fashion and her rump wiggled near his face, pulling a ragged growl from him as the movement – and maybe a little subtle coaxing with his fingers to part her – revealed just how ready she was, and _had_ been, for him since they started this dance.

A single, hoarse, _"Cor…"_ burbled up past his lips, followed by the loud and wet smacking noise of Hermione's lips pulling off of him.

Her lower body settled on his chest and she sat upright slowly, hands on his thighs, and her center sliding along his skin slowly, spreading a slick wetness down the valleys and hills of his muscles there. Hermione shot him a grin overtop a shoulder and asked cheekily, "All better?"

Tom's response was an incoherent, feral sound that ended with him sitting up abruptly and dumping Hermione into his lap. He reveled in her surprised gasp when she plopped down into it and could feel his hard length suddenly nestled between her ass cheeks. Tom snatched up the box of condoms with one hand and tangled the other into her hair, pressing his lips to her ear heatedly and growling low. _"So bloody pleased wiv yorself…"_

An involuntary shudder of pleasure ran through her and a soft keening noise forced its way from her throat. Hermione reached back to snake a hand into his hair and whimpered when he began rumbling filthy sounding things into her skin. His tone was so low and gravelly she couldn't even pick them all out. He coaxed her forward onto her hands and knees, all the while pressed as close as was possible while she heard him fumbling with the box and then a wrapper.

Hermione cracked her eyes open to peek beneath her and found she had an amazing view of him behind her, stroking himself while he fiddled with the ring of latex in his other hand. Her mouth dried out and her eyes zeroed in on the easy way his fingers ran along his shaft, thumb brushing over the tip between up and down strokes, spreading her lingering saliva mixed with more shiny droplets of his own wetness over his length. Chill bumps spread across her entire body in seconds and she arched her back into his chest and purred his name insistently.

She _would_ be the death of him, he'd thought as he rolled the condom in place and pressed his tip against her. Even through the thin layer of protection he could feel her heat and how utterly dripping she was for him.

He started to say something, one last _"are you sure"_ but her response was only to thrust her hips back onto him. They both gasped in unison, her at the sudden rush of being filled and him at the shock of her too tight heat clamping hard around him all at once.

Tom groaned loudly and draped himself over her back, one of his hands slapping onto the headboard to support himself while the other arm curled around her waist to pull her flush to him. _"Yor trouble."_

Hermione moaned when he ground into her. _"Shut up and shag me, Tom—"_

" _All bloody night, dove."_

* * *

 **A/N:** Clearly it can't be THAT easy in one of Slik's stories, right?


	24. Chapter 24

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 24**

When Tom came to, it was to the heady smell of sex and whatever lovely scented bath products Hermione, or more likely Abraxas or Marcus, purchased for her to use.

Light from the early morning sun was streaming in through cracks in his blinds and beating on the backs of his eyelids but he opted to keep them shut and wallow in the fuzzy memories that were, all the while, streaming back in with delightful clarity.

 **. . .**

" _Just loike that, dove," he hummed past his lips where they pressed to the top of her head. His tattooed hands gripped her hipbones as she rose and fell on his lap excitedly and he shivered at every one of her hitched breaths when she would reach the height of her strokes._

" _Tom," she whimpered into his neck between panting breaths. "I—"_

" _Fuck—so beautiful—" He tilted his head back, allowing her fast coming puffs of air to wash over his skin, reveling in how torturously soft she was even wrapped around him, bouncing atop him as she was._

" _I'm going to—" Her fingers dug into his biceps._

 _Tom groaned when her nails bit into his arms, sure that she'd likely broken the skin and loving the tantalizing thrill each crescent puncture brought with it. "Gods—FUCK—so bloody tight, love," he growled, fully immersed in the sensations of her slick walls starting a squeezing, fluttering, feeling of pleasure. "Cor—just loike that, Hermione—"_

 _He'd no sooner said her name when Hermione's strangled cry of his own reached his ears along with her forceful clenching around his cock as she fell blissfully off the edge in climax. The tight spasming of her muscles massaging the length of him had Tom sputtering less coherent, even more thickly accented babble seconds later as he came just behind her._

 **. . .**

Tom shifted at the memory, a lazy, dopey grin turning up the edges of his mouth.

He had made good on his promise of "all night" and though their first session was embarrassingly short - thanks to his not having been with a woman for more years than he preferred to count - he had made up for it with _so_ much gusto that he wouldn't have been surprised if she had a sore throat that morning. Even then, the thought of her _fantastic_ ass wiggling and her body arching and writhing had him aching already that morning.

Tom grunted and rolled over, an arm draping over the lump in the sheets next to him. "Hermione," he said in a rough mutter. When she didn't answer and the lump didn't move or respond he finally cracked an eye open. "Hermione?"

It took him several bleary-eyed blinks to clear his vision, but when he wasn't greeted with a wild mess of curly locks, his brow creased in confusion. With another series of disgruntled noises, he pushed to his elbows and had a good look at the dumpy pillow that had been tucked up against his back in place of the woman he remembered in his bed the night before. His hand patted the thing as well as the mattress beneath it and found it cool to the touch. With a deep frown, Tom sat fully up and looked to his bedside clock, finding it to be the mid-morning.

A good dozen different awful thoughts wiggled their way into his head at the cold sheets and Tom slung his naked legs over the side. He lingered there, rubbing at his face and making all sorts of rationalizations for her disappearance that morning before finally grumping to himself and pushing to his feet to at least put some shorts on. More clothed than Hermione had been the evening prior running about the house, he shuffled from his room, making a pit-stop to her decidedly empty bedroom and then the loo before braving a grouchy, heavy heeled path down the stairs.

By the time Tom reached the kitchen, his afterglow had been all but snuffed out. Eyes zeroing in on a large silver carafe that had appeared sometime after Hermione had begun inhabiting the master bedroom, he ignored the other occupants of the room to pour himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning Tom," said Abraxas, turning his head with a paper in hand. "Sleep we— _ **WHOA!**_ Did you get mauled by a bleeding _bear_? Holy Christ!"

Tom's back was facing Abraxas and his other roommates and to say it had been "scratched up" would have been a kind and naïve interpretation of the phrase. From shoulder all the way down to the waistband of his shorts, any of his lightly colored skin that wasn't covered with the menacing face permanently scrawled into his back in varying shades of black and gray, was raked with bright red and pink nail marks. His neck had bruises blooming on both sides and there was even a suspicious looking red and purple one developing dangerously near the swell of an ass cheek that looked to be in the shape of a _bite._

" _Stuff it,"_ Tom groused from around the rim of a coffee mug that bore the emblem of his uncle's shop.

"Our little Tommy's balls dropped last night!" Blaise chirped merrily from behind his own section of paper. He ignored the annoyed growl from the man by the sink.

"Wha—you mean?"

Blaise nodded at Marcus who had been half asleep in his cereal until that point. "Finally sealed the deal with our very own Hoodlum."

"OH!" Abraxas squealed excitedly. "Tom, mate, that's great! That happened after the meeting with Pans, then? She was very…" He paused oddly. "Well, honestly, she was really quite hot and bothered by whatever happened. I couldn't understand her when we met up—"

"S'because she probably had your _todger_ in her—"

Abraxas slapped Marcus upside the head with his paper and glowered.

" _Anyway,_ " Blaise said, eying the other two, "Good on you, Tom! And…by the looks of it…Malfoy wasn't lying about her being wild in bed."

 _That_ statement was met with a snarl that none of the others could recall hearing from Tom before and the man in question had closed the distance between the kitchen sink and the dining table in a few steps looking positively furious.

"Another fucking _word_ , Zabini—"

Blaise's eyes went round, though he was entirely unfazed by Tom's posturing. "Oh _WOW!_ You _LIKE_ her. Like…you _**REALLY**_ like her!"

At that, Tom flushed.

" _Sod off!_ "

Tom stomped back into the kitchen, pointedly opening the refrigerator door so they could no longer see any part of him as he scrounged for breakfast. The angry scowl plastered on his face lessened when he spotted a clear plastic cup on the top shelf with his name scribbled on it in Hermione's handwriting. Tom plucked it from the icebox and peeked back around the side of the door, remembering to put his scowl back in place as he asked with a little lighter tone in his voice than he'd spoken in before.

"Where'd this come from?" Tom asked, shaking the drink.

Abraxas peered back over his shoulder before returning to his paper. "Where do you _think_ , loverboy?"

With a frown, Tom shut the door and fished around a drawer for a straw. "So you saw her this morning?" He inquired as evenly as he could but Blaise didn't miss it and instantly started to chuckle.

"Ohhh- _ho._ She left without saying goodbye?" Blaise turned to Marcus to whisper conspiratorially, _"She left without saying goodbye."_

"Did you miss it when I said _SOD OFF,_ Blaise? Do you need me to repeat it, with my _fist_ this time?"

Blaise snorted but Abraxas piped up again. "I took her to work this morning, mate. She's working a double, apparently? I had no idea about you two or I might've been prodding her with questions! She made a round of poncy iced beverages for our band of merry, manly men and Blaise before I headed back."

" _Hey!"_

Tom ignored his mouthy, filter free roommate and addressed only Abraxas while sipping his signature coffee drink in iced form, speaking around the straw. "A double?"

"Yeah, said she won't be out 'til after dark."

Marcus was studying Tom's face throughout the conversation he was so rudely being left out of and when his face fell at that news, Marcus whispered at Blaise. _"Would you consider those puppy dog eyes?"_

The dark skinned man looked over at Tom and back. _"I could see it. If Rottweilers made sad mooning eyes at things."_

" _Of course they DO! And anyway, by default, their eyes would be puppy dog eyes."_

" _That's not true,"_ Blaise protested, _"A puppy may always be a dog, but a dog is not always a puppy."_

" _You sound like Abraxas."_ Marcus narrowed his eyes at his roommate and they shared a long, hard stare for what felt like several minutes. _"…so…puppy dog eyes?"_

" _Oh yeah,"_ Blaise said, _"Without a doubt. He's a goner."_

 **. . . . .**

"Hermione! Is that order up yet?"

Hermione's eye twitched and she grit her teeth together to keep from saying what she, so desperately, wanted to say. Instead, she said, _"Coming right up, Penny!"_ and went on to swallow her venom and grumble about having been working for five straight hours with eleven more to go.

 _Overtime_ , she thought. _Rent money. Food money._ _It'll be fine once I get paid…I can deal with—_

The sound of the shop's door opening interrupted her thoughts and sent a renewed wash of irritation down her spine. She turned to glare covertly at the newcomers from behind her wall of machines and curtain of steam only to perk up in surprise.

"Welcome to Lockhart's," Penny started dully before realizing who it was. "Tom! Hey!"

Tom waved halfheartedly at Penny in greeting and walked up to the side of the counter where Hermione stood. He let his eyes run over what he could see of her from that side of the barrier of machines, lingering on the popped collar of her black polo and what little it did to hide the bruises peppered over her neck, shoulders, and collarbone. "Hey," he said softly, offering her a smirk.

Hermione blinked, confused as to what had brought her roommate there in the middle of the day. "Tom. Hi." It was her turn to look him over and she noted a pesky little water droplet making its way down the side of his neck over his own bruises and only then noticed his slicked back hair and how his shirt clung to him as if he'd just stepped out of the shower. "Did you just wake up or something?"

He scoffed. "No. I woke up a few hours after you left," he tried not to sound bitter about it.

He failed.

She tilted her head to one side, missing his tone completely. "Huh. I thought you had class today." Hermione turned back to finishing the last order and shrugged. "Did you know you drool?"

Tom's brows shot up and glanced to Penny - who was staring at the pair of them with a very foul look on her face - and back. He hissed at her, "I do _not_ drool."

"Yeah, you really kinda do," Hermione hummed cheekily.

"Do _not._ "

She set the last of the drinks on the pickup station, wiped off her hands, and leaned over a free spot on the counter with a grin. "Tell that to the slobber knots I had to pick out of my hair this morning." Tom's cheeks reddened and he opened his mouth to protest but she chuckled and continued before he could. "Do you always cuddle the sheets like that when you sleep? So twee."

He was bright red when he said, _"SHUT IT."_

Hermione laughed and stood up again. "What brings you to my pitiful prison in the middle of the day, Rickle?"

Tom snorted. "Lunch?"

She stared at him curiously until he produced the bag he'd apparently been carrying all that time and shook it at her, her eyes going round with excitement at the branded emblem on the bag from that bistro place the boys had successfully gotten her hooked on. "OH! What'd you get?" Her excitement tempered a bit and she added, "And how much do I owe you?"

"Owe me?" He rolled his eyes. "Granger, I'm not going to make my—"

" _Tom? Tom, my boy is that you? I THOUGHT I heard you out here!"_

A simultaneous groan slipped out from both Tom and Hermione when they heard Lockhart's perky voice coming from the direction of the back office.

"Uncle," Tom greeted lamely.

"Tom!" Lockhart said again happily, "So very _good_ to see you again so soon! This makes, what? Twice in the last few months? That's the most I've seen you in that short a time in YEARS!"

"Yes, well, that's intentional."

Lockhart didn't bother paying attention to his grumbling and draped an arm over Tom's shoulders. "What have we here, then? Fraternizing with the help?" He asked with a grin, releasing his nephew long enough to dig his elbow into Tom's arm teasingly before sweeping him back into a jerky half hug.

Hermione's eyes narrowed to slits and Tom's did the same.

"I came to bring Hermione lunch," Tom said agitatedly. He shirked his uncle's touch away and placed the bag he'd brought on the counter again.

Lockhart eyed the bag then both Tom and Hermione in turn. "Lunch?" he asked. He looked between them again and a wide, sly smile stretched his lips. " _Ooooooh_ , I see what's going on here! Ohhhh, Thomas, you _dog_ you—"

"It's Tom."

"You go on, you crazy _KIDS_ , you!" Gilderoy clapped Tom so firmly on the back that he nearly stumbled and righted himself giving his uncle a glare. The curly haired blond man fluttered his way back towards his office, stopping at the entrance to the back hall and pointed at Tom. "You come see me before you leave though, Thomas! Catch up with your ol' Uncy Gilderoy before you go! I want to hear _all_ about your psychology classes!"

"Philosophy."

"Saaaaame thing," Lockhart said dreamily, waving a hand and disappearing down the hall.

Hermione was still glaring after the man when she finally said, "Yeah…so, your uncle—"

"Adopted," Tom reminded her.

"Right."

 **. . . . .**

For her lunch break, Hermione opted to sit out on the patio with Tom. She'd polished off the four cheese grilled cheese sandwich and tomato bisque soup he'd brought her with fervor and was enjoying the last fifteen minutes of her break with her cheek pressed to the table, the sun beaming down on her back, and a cool breeze lulling her towards succumbing to "the _–itis._ "

Hermione groaned and rubbed her belly, pulling a chuckle from Tom. He reached out and smoothed his hand over her tied back curls. "You eat like you're in prison."

She snorted and shot him a look from her spot on the table.

He shook his head. "Sorry. Just fairly sure I've never actually met a woman who could unhinge her jaw and swallow her food whole. You're like a bleeding snake."

"Am _not_ ," she muttered sleepily. Her lids blinked lazily, one shuttering closed before the other, giving her a distinctly groggy look.

"You really are," he argued, much as they had earlier. "Though that is decidedly _not_ twee."

Hermione laughed and rustled around in her seat until she mustered the energy enough to sit up and stretch. She extended her arms far above her head and her legs as far out beneath the table as they could go, all the while making a serious of burbly squeaking and whining noises.

Tom quirked a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as well. When she finished and was sitting in her chair once more, he asked, "Finished?"

She made a face and stuck out her tongue, but before she could retract it fully, he grasped her chin between his fingers and moved in to steal her for a kiss. Hermione let out a surprised and muffled squeak before sinking into the pressure of his lips and tongue. The tip of his own found some amusement in locating the ball of her tongue stud and nudging it several times before he finally pulled away, dragging her bottom lip between his teeth as he did and leaving her with a half-lidded smirking expression on her face.

"Mm," Hermione hummed and licked her lips, finding the taste of his too sugary coffee drink starting to grow on her. "What was that for?"

Tom shrugged and nodded towards her mouth. "Thought it was an invitation." He smirked when she cracked another smile and chuckled at him.

Pushing to her feet once more, Hermione did a few twists and bending stretches before snatching up her hat and tugging it back down onto her head. "Back to work, Rickle. I'll see you in…ten hours?"

He rose as well and gathered their rubbish to bin. "I'll meet you out front."

"Huh?"

When he looked up to see Hermione blinking like a bird, her head cocked to one side, he rolled his eyes again. "I'm picking you up."

Understanding bloomed in her eyes and she brightened. "Huh. Oh. Well, okay then! I'll meet you here."

Tom watched Hermione scurry back inside, letting his eyes linger on her backside and a smile quirk his lips before he finished cleaning up. With absolutely no intention of visiting his uncle before he left, Tom snatched up his drink and tucked his free hand into his pocket, grinning to himself about the way fate worked itself out.

He'd never once thought he would be able to find as…interesting of a girl in someone like Hermione. It was with a bounce in his step and thoughts about how fortuitous he was to snatch up one like her all for himself, floating in his head, that he made note to stop by the drug store to replenish Blaise's box of condoms they'd used along with picking up plenty for himself.

 **. . . . .**

Hermione returned to her station with a sour faced Penny watching her every step. The second after she clocked in, Penny snapped at her.

"So, what? Are you, like, boyfriend and girlfriend or something?"

Hermione looked up at Penny strangely, her head coming up so suddenly and with surprise that all she could do is give the woman a very befuddled look. "What? No! I don't really _do_ that right now. We're just flatmates."

Penny's eyes narrowed, unconvinced. " _Really._ Because that looked pretty friendly out there."

A fine brow ticked up at the admission from Penny that she'd obviously been watching them. "One – none of your business. But also, two – we're just friends."

"…so you're _not_ going out."

"No. Absolutely not."

* * *

 **A/N:** Communication, people! Hermione is a rolling stone, guys. You can't tie her down.


	25. Chapter 25

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 25**

By the end of her shift, Hermione was positively wiped. She was certain she'd ingested enough espresso over the last sixteen hours that her blood had effectively been replaced by the caffeinated liquid itself and she was _still_ completely knackered. Her lids were drooping as she swiped the counter one last time with a cleaning rag before tossing it in a bucket and calling her day _"done."_ Hermione barely had enough energy to tug off her cap and apron, tossing them in the back room with several very vulgar expressions of wanting them nowhere near her until her next shift. So caught in her sluggish and hazy daze was she that she managed to be startled when she shuffled across the shop's threshold and spotted Tom sitting outside on the hood of his car looking as patient as she'd ever seen him.

"Rickle," she chirped in surprise. "What are you doing here?" He scoffed, slid off his car, and flashed her a smirk that went straight to her thighs.

Tom didn't appear to catch the involuntary shiver that ran through her as he was more focused on closing the gap between them to pluck the ratty and shoddily repaired backpack of hers off her shoulder. "Picking you up."

"Huh?"

Hermione still looked puzzled all the way up until he leaned in and pressed his lips to hers in a familiar and perhaps too comfortable fashion. They were so much softer than she'd ever expected a man like him, so full of hard, sharp angles from head to toe, to be. She felt the fingers of his free hand slip into her mop of barely contained and sweaty curls with a touch that clearly cared very little at her state of "uck" by the firm way he tugged her closer. She knew she was filthy, she probably stank to high heaven of coffee and sweet, sticky syrups and pastries, and she was _**positive**_ that she still tasted of the bitter dark roast she'd been chugging for the entirety of her shift.

Apparently, Tom gave an exact number of "zero fucks" about any of it.

That subtle ache from before throbbed and sent another shiver through her limbs ending in a wistful exhale as she melted into his kiss. His tongue tickled across the cushion of her lip until she'd opened for him and he teased the inside of it as well. While she was certain she tasted dreadful, he was all delicious spearmint and heat that she swallowed down and it warmed her completely from the inside out. Her arms had come up to loop around his neck at some point long enough ago to where she was then slipping them down his body. Her fingers trailed down his neck, over shoulders that were so deliciously broad, especially next to her own, and down his…completely sleeve covered arms?

Even in her groggy snog-drunk state, she recognized the oddity of his attire and Hermione pried herself from his mouth with a soft hum of satisfaction. She tamped down on the grin trying to surface at the disgruntled noise that escaped him when she tugged free of his nibbling. "Do you always dress so prettily when picking people up?" she teased breathlessly, tugging at the cuff of his button down shirt that was decidedly _not_ rolled up to his elbow.

Tom's cheeks heated but the color was thankfully hard to notice in the low street lighting outside the shop. "Only for birds that know precisely all the ways to ruin the mood," he huffed before ushering her toward the passenger side of his vehicle. "It's cold enough for it." His grouchy mutter was half hidden behind the door that he was now holding open.

Hermione blinked oddly, first at Tom then the door then back at him, his scowl, and his expectant look. Her brain fuzzed from the extra long day at work, Hermione shook her head and made her way to hop into the passenger seat. She managed a tired smile up at him from inside as she fastened herself into the seat and said cheekily, "It's really _not_ , but I'll pretend you're not trying to impress me if you'd like."

Tom slammed the door shut in her still smirking face, loaded her bag into the trunk, and came back to the driver's side with the tight lipped, unamused expression she was much more used to seeing. Hermione let the quiet hang between them for several minutes without attempting to breach it until she realized there was something else, something _different_ hanging there with it.

Hermione frowned when she sensed it and eventually turned in her seat to get a clear look at Tom's profile as he drove them home. His jaw was tensed and his brow so furrowed that she got the idea that she'd actually insulted him. Without thinking, the words slipped out of her. "I'm sorry," she said.

They both looked surprised – him from the loudness in the otherwise tense silence of his car and her from the fact that she'd apologized for something.

Hermione dragged the edge of her lip between her teeth and added hastily, "I'd forgotten. About you picking me up, I mean." When he didn't respond she shrugged and huddled further into the cushions. "The day's been a bit of a blur." And then, "…I like the sleeves. They're…different."

That made Tom's mouth twitch into a smirk. He didn't turn to face her but did spare her a glance from the corner of his eye. "Blaise would be so disappointed in you."

It took her a second to understand what he was referring to until she had to fiddle with the seatbelt strap to shove it back down her arm to keep it from sliding into the side of her head again. Hermione looked at her sideways sitting and rearranged herself to face forward with a snort. "Yes, well, Blaise can go eat a dick."

"Oh, he does, I'm sure. It's sort of his thing."

Hermione guffawed at his succinct delivery and just like that, that uneasy tension dissipated and the rest of the drive home was filled with more than a handful of Hermione's strange customer stories from the day.

* * *

 **A/N:** Hi all! Just a little short fluffy bit for this today. I figured since it's been a while, why the hell not?


	26. Chapter 26

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 26**

Tom's sleeve cuffs had migrated from their proper position around his wrists to their normal spot just below his elbows on their way back to the house and the smooth way he'd done it had Hermione entranced.

She'd stared hard at his shirtsleeves, amazed that the so snazzy rumpled cuff style that she'd tried so many times on her own dress shirts was _so_ bloody simple. She'd barely taken her eyes off of them since he'd rolled them even though their idle car chitchat had long since moved beyond "how did you do that?"

Tom was turning onto their street, turning his head to check for any random late night traffic when he caught her staring again. He couldn't tell in the low light filtering into the car, but with the way her head whirled back around to stare out of her own window, he could tell she hadn't meant to be seen. "Did you need another explanation?" He asked. "A diagram perhaps?"

"No," Hermione replied quickly. Then, after a moment, her shoulders slumped and she looked back at him. "All these years…and it's really just _that_ simple?"

"It really is." He nodded. He was smirking at her by the time they pulled into the driveway and he was waiting for the garage door to finish opening before rolling the rest of the way in. Tom glanced at her from the corner of his eye and teased her. "Would you like me to show you again?" he said silkily. "We can head up to my room and I'll unroll them and re-roll them just for you. More slowly this time."

Hermione outright laughed at him and the way he even threw in a little waggle of his brows. She smacked him on the arm and slipped out of the vehicle as soon as it was off. "You're actually charming when you're not being an arse, did you know that?" Hermione shuffled along towards the trunk to retrieve her bag, only to meet up with Tom once more who was giving her that damned bloody smirk that did all sorts of not right things to her insides. She could feel herself gulp at the way his eyes were so dark and full of promise and she briefly wondered if it sounded as loud as it did in her ears.

Tom lifted open the trunk lid and snatched up her backpack, looping the straps over one of his shoulders. She eyed the bag as if she were about to take it and he gave her a look that made her think better of it. Tom closed the trunk then chucked her under the chin. "And you're a bit of a delight when you're not being such a bossy bird."

Hermione's mouth popped open in surprise and when she noticed the very slight bob to his shoulders as he held in his chuckles, she snapped it shut again. She quirked a brow at him and tilted her head to one side. "So…never, then?"

The joke tricked a laugh from him and Tom just shook his head and ushered her into the house ahead of him. Locking up behind him, he followed Hermione up the stairs towards her room, dutifully carrying the bag that he idly pondered the contents of – bricks or iron bars, he was convinced. She must have been training for something spectacular because he felt as if he was lifting weights when he shifted it. They made it all the way to her door and she passed through awkwardly, pausing on the other side to look him over as if she wasn't sure precisely what she wanted to do.

When Tom shrugged off her bag and extended it to her across the threshold, her eyes fixated on the bulge of muscle of his bicep in a bit of a gawk and he grinned. "The offer still stands," he teased though there was a definite heat simmering there. "Not going to invite me in?"

Hermione's eyes darted back up to his face and she had the courtesy to give him a proper blush this time around before accepting the backpack and dropping it gingerly to a spot beside the door. "I'd like to," she said, surprising herself with the honesty. "I'm just so tir—" Her sentence was cut off by a huge and largely unflattering yawn that stretched her mouth wide like a beluga whale at feeding time. Hermione only noticed by the way he was doing that _smiling_ thing at her again and she quickly covered her mouth. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "Tired was what I was trying to say. And filthy. I need a shower…or, really…a pressure washing after today. My hair is all sorts of… _uck._ "

Tom reached and stroked a hand over her hair, his mouth twitching upwards when she unconsciously leaned into the touch. "S'not bad at all, dove. I could help with that though. Four hands are better than two?"

And suddenly, Hermione was awake again.

She straightened once her mind computed that he was essentially asking if she wanted him to accompany her in the shower. It got hung up, however, on the idea of him washing her hair.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and looked him over once, twice, _thrice._ Gently coaxing his stroking hand into one of hers, she tilted her head up with a skeptical expression. "What could you possibly know about washing a woman's hair? Especially-" Hermione reached back and untied her mass of curls so that, even with the sweat and crud from the day weighing it down, it sprung out in all of its bushy glory. "-hair like _this?"_

Tom was rather entranced by what he considered a gorgeous mane of hair. The memory of how much he'd enjoyed burrowing his face into the back of her neck through the thick fall of her curls so he could wrap around her after their eventful night sent a wave of shivers through him. She was looking at him funny when he came out of his slight daze and he shook his head with a shrug, finally pushing past her but catching her wrist en route to her bathroom. "We'll find out."

 **. . .**

Hermione's skepticism towards Tom's "just showering" intentions and hair washing skills dissolved into nothingness shortly after he'd peeled her work clothes off of her and prodded her towards the master bedroom's disgustingly large shower with a look of nothing but concentration. She found herself fidgety in front of him like she hadn't been in front of _anyone_ in a significant amount of time. He was conscious of the fact that she was quite naked but he dutifully went about his plans, moving around her only sans shirt, preparing the shower for her without calling attention to her state of undress in a sexual way at all.

She found it very… _weird…_ though not unwelcome.

Hermione watched him, so focused on his task while she stood on the fluffy circular bathroom rug and its multicolored flower petals that made something like the shape of a daisy. He'd brushed past her to check the water temperature again and she allowed a personal moment to praise the lean line of his back; it was just as delicious as she'd remembered from their night in bed. Without thinking, she reached out and traced the jaw of the huge skull shape inked into his back, her fingertips sliding over the scales and belly of the snake that curled free from its mouth and disappeared somewhere below the waistband of his pants and trousers. Her touch startled him out of his concentration but he managed a grin back over his shoulder.

"Ready for you, dove." Tom gestured to the shower.

She arched a brow but finally moved in and under the spray, carefully letting the water cascade only down her front from the neck down with an awkward shuffling from foot to foot. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out why she was so bloody nervous! It wasn't as though she'd never been naked in front of a man before, she'd been naked in front of _this_ very one just a night ago!

 _…and oh the things they'd done…_

No, this wasn't different. This wasn't _**any**_ different from any other time she'd showered with anyone.

Except for the fact that it totally **was** _._

Her thoughts were spinning and running a mile a minute and so entrenched in them was she that she physically jumped and yelped when he climbed in behind her. Hermione whirled around with one hand clutched over her heart to shoot him a scandalized glare and was met with an amusedly raised eyebrow and a so very naked Tom Riddle.

"If it bothers you that much, I could go?" Tom offered carefully.

Hermione loosed a nearly offended exhale. " _Pfft-_ " He flinched from the spittle she spat on his face, swiping himself clean with a palm as she continued. "I'm not _bothered._ "

Tom reached around her to palm some of the water from the spray and wet his hair so the normally unruly waves were saturated and plastered to his skin. He started to do the same to hers and saw her shoulders tense awkwardly. "You're such a shite liar."

She huffed at him, fixed him with a hard glare to cover the tinge of pink to her cheeks and inched backwards until the water began to seep into her thick curls. Hermione opened her mouth to snark but got distracted with the way the water was bouncing off of her head and shoulders and back to splatter onto his still relatively dry chest. Something about the way the little beads of moisture squirreled their way down the sparse hairs on his chest and down, around, and through the mounds and valleys of muscle that made up his chest and stomach was disgusting.

Just… _disgusting_ …

Hermione's tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

"I've never done this before," she said more breathlessly than she intended.

Tom didn't look at her, just gave another of those lopsided grins then swept a hand beneath the curtain of her hair along her nape, working the water more thoroughly into each section of it. "What'd I just say?"

She scoffed and smacked his chest, the sound amplified by the water and bathroom acoustics. "I'm not lying!" Hermione snapped then finally admitted in a muttered, "This is… _different._ "

It was something in the way she spoke that made him pause and finally look at her. With the way she was standing, arms tucked tightly against her sides, one hand fiddling with the other and hovering between their bodies, it became clearer that she seemed to have no idea of what to do with them as he tended to her. Suddenly, the realization that she had never done _this_ – _just_ showered and been, well, what _was_ he doing? Pampering?

 _Fuck. A spade's a spade._

She'd never been pampered by her significant other before?

Tom's jaw tightened, the idea not sitting well with him at all. Flashes of an arrogant, pointy face and a pale blond head flickered in the lines of his vision. That muscle in his neck was twitching with the way his teeth started to grind at the memory of Abraxas' pissant of a cousin and his hands balled into fists.

"Ow!"

He started at Hermione's shriek of pain and released the wad of her curls abruptly, looking at her wide-eyed. Without thinking, Tom dipped down to press a kiss to her forehead and murmured an apology. He untangled himself from her locks, reached for the shampoo and then tucked her more closely to his chest as he occupied himself with just enough of it to work it into her scalp.

Tom could feel her muscles slacken with every little massage near the roots of her hair and she'd started making distracting noises that were swiftly tugging his irate thoughts towards any and all of his girl's exes back in a completely different direction. He cleared his throat but his words still came out thicker than before. "Bollocks," he said. When he felt her head tilt up and watched those heavy lidded eyes focus sleepily up at him, he added, "That no other bloke's ever done this with you before."

Hermione's eyes narrowed but her skeptical look was washed away along with the hot water rinsing away all that sweat, grime, and the inescapable coffee dust and syrups from her pores. "Mmm," she purred lazily, "Who are you and what have you done with my non-bizarro world Rickle?"

She completely missed the way he preened at her offhanded claim. "Perhaps if you'd curbed your tastes from scrawny, albino bitches years ago—"

"Ah. Nevermind, there he is," Hermione rumbled even as she leaned more into his chest as he started working conditioner into her hair.

 _Bloody…hell…she'd died._

She was completely and utterly certain that she'd actually died in prison and everything from then until that point where Tom-fucking-Riddle was conditioning her hair was this wonderfully ridiculous and heavenly dream.

 _Everything but that Pansy girl, she was still a menace…but mostly everything else was magnificent._

Hermione was almost positive she was drooling on herself at that point, actually.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed, only knew that in it, Tom had managed to thoroughly condition her hair, wrangle her barely conscious form to stretch and bend and lift so he could scrub away all the muck from her long day at work, and turn her out into the bedroom feeling cleaner than she'd felt in ages.

Tom told her he'd be a few more minutes while he, himself, got cleaned up. Hermione suspected that his persistent, turgid arousal that had been slapping into her thigh when they were maneuvering around each other beneath the hot water may have come into play as well. If she'd been even mildly more coherent in that supremely late hour, Hermione might've found it funny that when she even seemed tempted to offer aid in solving his problem, he'd just dotted a kiss to the corner of her mouth and shooed her out.

Instead, her sleep deprived noggin just found it all rather… _nice._

Thoughts of just how _nice_ it was circled in her mind all the way until she passed right the fuck out sprawled on top of her bedsheets, a towel draped over her bare arse, and her face at the footboard with her feet tucked beneath the expensive memory foam pillows at the head.

* * *

 **A/N:** Fluff, fluff, fluff. All the fluffs.


	27. Chapter 27

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 27**

 _Hermione felt light headed…no, no, she just felt_ _ **light.**_ _Feather light. Like she was flying._

 _And then she was warm._

 _And cozy._

 _And there was a big cushy marshmallow under her cheek and some fluffy, plush covers being tugged up around her shoulders._

"Sleep well, dove."

She heard the low, soft murmur and hummed pleasantly as that warmth from before brushed over her temple and her cheek and then her forehead.

She was smiling all the way until that warmth started to pull away and then her lids cracked open groggily and a hand shot out and grabbed something damp and cottony.

Hermione grunted, _"…don't nick the jellies…"_

Tom blinked down at her as he straightened from his lightly dotted kisses to her face. He'd yet to shut off the bathroom light after rearranging her properly under her covers and was just about to excuse himself back to his bedroom but the tiny fist wadded into his towel was proving to be difficult to maneuver around. Tom reached out carefully to try and pry her fingers from the terry cloth and was met with a disgruntled noise that sounded a lot like a growl.

"… _muvver said no sweets before bed…"_

His head tilted to one side curiously and, against his better judgment, he leaned back down. _"Yor mum did?"_ he whispered.

"… _Snuffles…"_

Tom's brow furrowed and his face scrunched in confusion. "Snuffles?"

Hermione growled groggily again. _"Mizzter…Snuffles_ ," came her tired words.

"Mister…" Tom stopped himself mid-question when he spotted a tiny otter stuffie with matted fur and long pokey looking whiskers. Eyeing it, then _her_ rather suspiciously, he plucked the thing up from its spot on the far side of her bed and, by the intoxicating scent of what he now recognized as her shampoo and body soap wafting up off of its tiny otter body, he _knew_ this was Mister Snuffles.

 _This was the thing that Abraxas got her…_

Tom's mouth tugged down in a sour expression and, reluctantly, he tucked it in the crook of her neck and shoulder.

Immediately, Hermione let out a contented sigh and removed her hand from his towel in favor of cuddling the plush.

He resisted the scoff and other unkind things that desperately wanted to come out of his mouth as she cuddled Abraxas' toy thing and he flicked off the bathroom light. "G'night, Hermione," he said gruffly, turning to go.

" _Rickle."_

Hermione's sleepy voice was loud in the pitch black darkness of her room and it made him pause on his way to her door. His eyes were still adjusting to the low lighting and he couldn't properly make out her form in the bed, but she was wriggling – he heard her. She was wriggling and, if he was seeing correctly, freeing a spot on the mattress closest to where he still stood.

"… _sleeps time...n'more wankin',"_ she muttered half into her pillow and started to nod off again.

Tom stared at her for a moment longer as she fell back asleep and after her delicate snores started to fill the silence, he finally blew out a quiet laugh and shook his head before climbing into bed next to her. She barely registered his presence except to unconsciously drape an arm and leg over his naked self while managing to sandwich Mister Snuffles between them for a cuddle all while mumbling the word _"warm_."

He arranged her, her head resting on his chest and an arm draped around her shoulders and soon fell asleep to the rhythmic sounds of her snoozing and the sticky wet warmth of her drool puddling between his pectorals.

 **. . . . .**

When Hermione awoke for the second time, it was to the sweet chirping of obnoxious wildlife and sunlight streaming into her bedroom. She had piles of blankets tugged up to her nose and was burrowed under the lot of them, cuddling a pillow that smelled of citrus and amber. The smell was heavenly and was working quickly to lull her back into that oh-so-pleasant sleep. It almost worked, too, until she remembered that she was due at work again.

Hermione's eyes snapped open and with a gasp, she went about trying to untangle herself from her sheets. Flailing and _failing_ for a good several minutes, she finally got her arms out and groped around the nightstand Abraxas _also_ bought her for her alarm clock.

" _ **FUCK!"**_ Hermione exclaimed and made to wriggle out of bed, knocking a piece of folded cardstock that she'd missed before off the stand and watched it flutter to the carpet with a quizzical look. Only slightly less agitated than a moment ago, she snatched the thing off the ground and opened it to reveal a familiar and fancy script that she recognized as Tom's handwriting staring her in the face.

 _Called my uncle and got you the day off._

 _Get some rest, you look like shit when you don't sleep._

 _-Tom_

Hermione's mouth dropped open at the last line and an involuntary scoff escaped. She gave his note the absolute _foulest_ look she could muster and tried very pointedly to ignore the rustle of butterflies in her gut.

"Look like _shit_ …what a presumptuous arse…" she mumbled without heat to the words. For the first time since she startled herself awake, she looked around to the normally empty side of the bed and frowned at the pillow she'd been cuddling. She took a second to place it, but Hermione remembered it as one of the ones from his bed.

 _Well, that would explain the scent…_

Hermione stared hard at it and was debating on whether or not she actually wanted to go back to sleep when a soft knock snapped her out of her dilemma. Her attention shifted and she was soon greeted by Tom's head peeking in from around her door.

He looked as if he was about to say something but Hermione just flipped the cardstock into his line of sight and croaked out a hoarse, "I do _not_ look like shit."

Tom blinked, then snorted and invited himself the rest of the way in. "Only when you don't sleep – I specified. And mornin', dove. I thought I heard you rustling around over here."

Like the silly butterflies from before, she ignored the new ones that lost their shit when he spoke to her like that. "Where were you?" Hermione winced and also ignored how clingy that sounded.

 _Just friends, Hermione. Just friends…who shag._

Tom frowned at her and seated himself at the foot of her bed, one of his hands reaching out to run across the outline of her foot beneath her sheets. "I had class." He started to grin. "I woke you up, actually. You were quite reluctant to let me leave so-" He nodded towards his pillow. "-had to find a stand in. I trust Mister Snuffles kept you well in my absence?"

A nice shade of pink tinged her cheeks and the top of her freckled nose. "M-Mister Snuffles? I don't know what you're—"

He was scanning her bed and spotted Mister Snuffles wedged between her mattress and the headboard and plucked him up to set on top of his pillow. "Mister Snuffles," Tom said again, "your twee otter mate. You growled at me until I found him."

Hermione had very little shame and embarrassment was a difficult thing to come by for her, though she was – at that moment – having very vivid flashbacks about how one might feel that they might die from it. She coughed, cleared her throat, and composed herself. "Well…he's a good bed mate. You drool, after all."

Tom laughed and idly started rubbing the arch of her foot through the layers of blankets. "So do you, love. You left a right nice puddle on my chest this morning…"

She huffed, more out of posturing than anything else as her thoughts started to fuzz over from whatever it was he was doing to her foot. Hermione purred out a noise low in her throat and tried to change the subject. "When did you get home?"

He shrugged and started working his way further up her blanketed leg. "Not long ago? Ten, twenty minutes? I was about to come check on you…"

His hand reached a knot in her calf that he was offhandedly coaxing out and Hermione shivered. Her eyes were lidded and she was looking at him with a dark, glossy stare. "Done with class today?"

Tom caught that particular glint in her eyes and his response was barely a grunt of confirmation.

Hermione swallowed, nodded, and reached a hand out to curl her fingers in the soft cotton of the plain shirt he was sporting. "So you're free?"

He followed the insistent tug to his shirt and nodded. "Mm." Another grunt and her face was suddenly very close.

Her arms looped around his neck. "So this is fine?" she asked, even as she was slanting her lips over his.

Tom grunted another soft noise of affirmation.

He rearranged the pair of them to kick away the blankets that were still shielding her nude body from him pausing only to crack open an eye and give Mister Snuffles and his beady little otter eyes a narrowed glare. Tom flipped the stuffie to face away from them both and proceeded on his path to 'reuniting' with his girl.

* * *

 **A/N:** Tom's so nice to her now that he thinks they're dating. Surely that won't be an issue later on.


	28. Chapter 28

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 28**

" _Tom-"_

Tom groaned in response to the moan of his name, head dropping back off the edge of the bed from the awkward angle they'd somehow managed. " _Fuck_ —'mione-"

Hermione dug her nails into the tops of his hands were they were latched onto her hips as she rode him and hissed a protest of the nickname. He quickly remedied it with other groaned mutterings of angel, sweetheart, darling, and dove, the latter-most endearment still eliciting the loudest pleasured sound from the woman above him.

" _Fuck,_ " he said again with feeling and managed a strained mutter of _'m'close_ as his hips twitched up to meet hers out of rhythm. She responded by slapping away his hands for more freedom and ground herself back down against him until he fell into a new rhythm with her. Tom watched her arch back, felt one of her hands brace herself at his thigh and the other snake between them. He turned his glazed eyes to the gorgeous line of her body, tracing over the hand rubbing herself, the sweet curves of her thighs, stomach, and breasts to linger on her panting lips before dragging them back down.

He dared to touch her again and, when he was met with no slap this time, snuck a hand in to take over the eager circles she was making on her clit. Her surprised groan vibrated through his body, sent shivers through him from head to toe, and her muscles began to clench more insistently around him. Before much longer the world had narrowed only to the sharp pangs of her nails digging into his thigh, the hitching sounds of her panting and his own ragged pulls of breath filling the air, but mostly the way she rubbed and stroked and tugged at his length with each deep thrust.

She broke first this time with the most beautiful cry of pleasure.

Tom was fairly certain that his eyes did some unattractive rolling in his head as she climaxed around him. He distantly heard himself babbling a slew of praise in the thickest version of his native accent to date even as he pistoned into her from below. He slid in and out with a stuttered rhythm and fierce need to feel her, dragging out as much of the sensation of her walls spasming around him as he could stand before he came with a throaty growl.

Hermione slumped forward over him, her head falling heavily to his chest and her mane of hair practically smothering his face. She continued rocking very lightly over him, savoring the twitches of his prick inside of her and his thickly accented curses with a catlike smile plastered on her face. She loosed a low purr of a sound when his arms came up around her to stroke her back and she amused herself by dazedly tracing all the inked pictures on the bicep in her line of vision as she came down from her orgasm.

Her hips kept working very slow, very slight circles, pulling hisses and hitches of breath from the man beneath her until he finally grunted and lifted her off his softening length as though she weighed no more than a feather. Hermione snorted a soft laugh at the disgruntled noise he made when he chanced a look between them to the heftily filled condom. She allowed him to roll her to the side so he could deal with it but remarked cheekily, "Good to know you had that good of a time."

Tom shot her a look on his way to her bathroom and paused just short of the doorway. He motioned to the slick, glistening expanse of his lower abdomen and his thighs where she'd been riding him with gusto and pointed to the sparse but heavily matted hairs. "And this is all you. So shut it," he huffed and disappeared into the bathroom, completely missing the way her pupils dilated hungrily while lingering at the shiny ridges of his stomach.

Hermione ate up every last inch of him visually before he went out of line of sight and she heard the sound of running water start up. She flopped back heavily onto her bed, sprawling on the mattress, and sighed. She was comfortable, oh so comfortable, surrounded by the haphazardly piled blankets, comforter, and pillows that all now smelled of their mingled scents and unmistakably of sex. The combination of his soap and shampoo and hers managed to create a terribly soothing set of notes that made her eyes droop and the urge to fall back asleep quite insistent – the orgasm probably helped with that as well.

Letting out another contented sigh, Hermione managed to roll herself back onto her side and then off the bed where she stretched and went about toeing through piles of clothing to find something suitable to wear. She'd managed to find everything save for her knickers and made an ornery sort of noise before tossing her armful of clothes to the mattress and at least starting to fasten her bra while she looked some more.

"What are you up to?" Tom asked, emerging from the bathroom toweling off his hair.

"Trying to find my-" Hermione paused in her search to look up at him and noted how he'd neglected to gather a separate towel for his waist and was comfortably standing there with his bits all out. She wasn't entirely sure what she was expecting, considering she was still mostly naked as well, but her mouth dried out for just a moment nonetheless. Clearing her throat, she straightened and finished her thought with her hands on her hips. "-knickers. Did you snatch them? I need to get dressed for work."

He gave her a small harrumph at the question but didn't really answer it, instead asking one of his own. "Did you actually _read_ my note in its entirety, Granger? I said that I'd gotten you the day off. You don't actually _need_ knickers to lay about at home."

Hermione barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. "Yes, I did read your bloody note. While I appreciate the lie in and also your penis," she paused to give him a generous gesture towards his resting length, "I need the money and therefore the hours. It's still early enough that I'm sure they wouldn't actually _refuse_ my help if I showed up." At the way his admittedly handsome face was scrunching in dull confusion, she raised a brow. "How else do you actually expect to get paid for rent, Rickle?" Her own expression morphed into one of shock and steadily growing outrage as she motioned between them again. "You don't think _this_ is—"

At that, Tom waved both of his hands at her in a blatantly placating movement. "No!" he said loudly and firmly. "I'm not taking _sex_ as payment!" The grotesque look on his face in response to just the _idea_ must have been explanation enough for her because she visibly relaxed. "Fuck, Granger…that's disgusting. I would never-" He shivered in disgust and shook his head. "NO. I just…don't plan on charging my girlfriend rent, is all. Seems a bit silly, especially when I don't actually need the—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Hermione cut him off, having closed the gap between them by making several measured strides around the bed to stand in front of him. "What did you say?"

Obviously confused again, Tom blinked dully at her. "Wha-which—"

Her eyes narrowed as if trying to process the last handful of seconds of conversation in her head over again. "Girlfriend. Did you say _girlfriend_?"

"Well, yeah?"

It was Hermione's turn to be completely boggled. Her eyes scanned over him for any sign of teasing and when she found none, they widened and a red flush crept over most of her very exposed skin. "Wh- _girlfr-_ wuh-no. No, no, no, no, no. We are _NOT_ a couple, Rickle. I don't-I don't date!"

Tom felt his face heating and the wash of embarrassment moving through him with a hint of anger mixed in. He would have responded with his initial gut reaction of snarking and lashing out had he not noticed that she'd gone from red to very pale in a matter of seconds and she was actually still babbling about all the dating she absolutely did-NOT-do. It was because of this that, instead of yelling at her for his own misunderstanding, he simply blinked and rested a hand over hers that had taken to fiddling with the tiny decorative button atop its little satin bow where it rested between the cups of her bra.

"Really?" he asked skeptically. "And what exactly do you call what we've been doing?"

Hermione turned huge eyes up to him and squeaked out, "Sex!"

Tom's mouth twitched in a frown. "It's not just been sex!" he protested. "Rides to and from work and school? All the snogging. Lunch…in-PUBLIC!"

"Those aren't dates! That's not dating. It's certainly not dating if I had no idea it was supposed to be dating!"

His frown intensified and he crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, valid. But it's not just sex! You said you LIKE me!"

"Wuh-well I DO!" Hermione had stopped messing with her bra button and had started very minute flailing motions along with her words. "But that's not…that's not the same as dating. It's different!"

Tom's signature scowl found its way to his face. "Fine," he said tartly. "Then explain what you meant because I have obviously misinterpreted this whole thing."

Looking a touch like a deer in headlights, Hermione's lips moved a few times before any noise came out. " _Well_ …I like you…but-it's-I mean it's a _like_ but I'm not sure if it's a _like-_ like…" she started and chanced a glance up at him, noted his defensive posture, and looked away again towards his toes...then quickly somewhere else that would NOT give her a view of his pecker in her direct _or_ peripheral vision.

Her heart thudded mercilessly against her ribcage and the sound of it echoed in her ears. The truth was, applying the title of "girlfriend" to herself when referring to whatever sort of relationship they had was both thrilling and terrifying. Having _just_ come out of being locked up from vandalizing her last big mistake's precious vehicle was quite a vivid and fresh reminder of all the horrible things that could go wrong in such a…relationship.

With all that hovering in the front of her mind there still managed to be a nagging voice in her head that was very clearly hissing at her to not shy away from it when the idea of them being a couple had sent those bloody butterflies in her belly to flitting again.

Hermione swallowed loudly and blinked back up at Tom who was staring with tight eyes behind the glowering mask she'd first seen him wear when they met. It made something sick pool in her gut to see him look at her like that again and she took a steadying breath before reaching out towards his folded arms. He didn't move for an excruciatingly long set of seconds and when he finally unfolded his arms and wrapped his fingers around hers in as stubbornly little of a hold as he could, she released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"I'm sorry," Hermione blurted quickly. "I just…I haven't really 'dated' anyone since-" Her mouth twisted in something that half resembled a sneer and half a frown. "-since _Malfoy._ And…well, you saw how that all worked out, didn't you?"

Despite his own self-consciousness at her initial refusal of their whatever-the-hell-they-were status, his glower lessened and he tugged on her fingers until she'd turned to focus on him once more. "Malfoy's a prat."

Hermione snorted. "Because you've been such a pleasure since day one?"

Tom had the decency to blush. "S'different," he muttered.

Feeling some of the earlier tension ease out of the air between them, Hermione shifted her weight into a more skeptical posture. "You're a _different_ kind of English prat then?"

He scoffed, offended, and opened his mouth immediately with a harsh reply on his tongue until he noted that she was chewing at the corner of her lip and looking a lot less confident than the little spitfire he was used to. More of his irritation just sort of blew out of him at the sight and a hand came up to cup her cheek. Tom shrugged and said, "A bit. Ever date a Cockney?"

Hermione found herself grinning when, with the question, that ever present accent she would hear slip into his passion tinged mumbles slide into place. "According to you, I have been." She shrugged and teasingly added, "I don't think so, though. I mean…they're a bit of a rough sort, aren't they? My mum told me all about them when I was a girl…"

"Yeah?" Tom smirked at the way she was batting her lashes at him and back to shyly chewing her lip. He ran a thumb across the plush pad until she ceased her worrying of it and swallowed thickly when her cheek pressed more firmly into his palm. "And wot'd yor mum 'ave ter say?"

She chuckled and shrugged again. "Big brutish arseholes, all of them, what with their pretty angles and annoying stomach ridges and tattoos all over the place."

"Sadly all true," Tom said with a dramatic, resigned sigh. Her laugh was musical and did a mess of pleasant things to his insides. "But she forgot somefin', dove."

Hermione would forever deny that the soft noise that snuck out of her at his continued use of that particular endearment did, in fact, come out of her. "What did mum forget, you big brutish arsehole?"

Tom laughed but his next words were sincere. "We take good care of our girls." He stroked a thumb over her lips again and leaned in, hesitating half way despite the telltale tilt of her head and the slight pucker to her mouth. He waited until she reopened her eyes to meet his with a curious and questioning half-lidded look. "Give us a chance to prove it?"

Hermione shivered when he slipped back into the accent she was more used to hearing; something about how easily he did it being so _terribly_ satisfying. She nodded. "I think…" Her hands were trailing down all those aforementioned annoying stomach ridges of their own accord, dancing down to his equally abominable bits that had woken up sometime between his quick post-coitus rinse and that moment. She took it upon herself to close the gap, slowly and surely, until their faces were inches apart and her lidded gaze was sliding between his lips and his eyes and back again. "I think…we should go on dates first. Before we-"

"Alright," he murmured, suddenly closer, his mouth pressed to the corner of hers. "We can do that. Give me a month to convince you of... _us_?"

Hermione's brow furrowed between kisses that he kept dotting just outside of the reach of her own lips making it a pain to reciprocate. "Seems too quick," she managed to mutter while chasing his kisses.

"Two, then?"

She'd finally caught him and so her reply was simply a noise of acceptance as she worked on rolling the meat of his lip between her teeth. Hermione succeeded on pulling a warm rumble from his chest and when she had to come up for air, she exhaled a breathy, "Two...two is good."

* * *

 **A/N:** It's been a little while! Hello! I'm still in the process of moving and next week is the big day. Ready or not, I guess I'll have to go! Have some fluff. Fluff fluff fluff. For anyone that was expecting a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad blowout over the misunderstanding: not this day! Or, not really any day. There's some drama in this fic but it's all really, _really_ minimal all things considered. AA is, after all, my little recreational, relaxing fic. Don't take it too seriously. Consume the fluff!


	29. Chapter 29

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 29**

Friday came much quicker than Hermione expected. Between the eventful start of the week and her meeting with the ever ridiculous Pansy Parkinson, all the way up to her funny little agreement with Tom Riddle a couple days back to give themselves a two month dating period to consider "going steady" – it was as if he was a child of the 40s or some such nonsense – it had been a funny sort of week. Their first actual, mutually acknowledged, date was to be that weekend. She would be lying if she said that she wasn't looking forward to it.

But first, she had to get through this absurdly early afternoon rush. And really, 'rush' was a kind word for the number of people to be there with only her and her nemesis manning the counters.

"Hermione!"

"YES! I've got it!" Hermione snapped over her shoulder hurriedly and barely turned back in time to properly make a face that was both pained and outraged as she missed the edge of the to-go cup and instead got a good three second pour of an _**extra** _ hot order of coffee onto the side of her hand. The sounds that escaped her were shrill and unintelligible all in one.

Penny's head turned at the clattering of a carafe being slammed onto the counter and a stream of foul language coming from her co-worker, the first words out of her own mouth being, "Careful with that, Hermione! It's expensive!"

Hermione ignored her and continued cursing all while scrambling past Penny to shove her hand under a stream of cool water at the nearby sink. A pitiful whine squeezed through her clenched teeth and the utterly lovely burning sensation flared to life in shiver inducing throbs and stings any time the air managed to hit her skin between the uneven flow from the faucet. " _ **FUCK.**_ "

"Hermione!" Penny hissed at her, suddenly at her side, though she still seemed rather unconcerned. "Hey! We've got a huge backup! Are you gonna be able to get all these drinks done with _that?"_ she asked harshly, gesturing at Hermione's rosy red hand.

Taking a deep breath through her nose, Hermione re-positioned herself to lean more comfortably on the edge of the sink with her hand drooping below the water flow and pressing her forehead to her opposite forearm. She refused to respond right away, lifting her head enough to peek at the funny shade her skin had turned and took some relief in the fact that it wasn't blistering – it just hurt like a motherfucker.

"Hermione-"

"YES, Penny, I heard you the first time." _You bloody twat._

Penny huffed and righted herself, placing her hands on her hips expectantly. "Well? Marie doesn't get in for another half hour. Are you going to be able to finish these orders or not?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously, though the menacing effect was slightly lessened by the way she began to shiver from the cold. "Your concern for my well-being renders me speechless, truly," Hermione snarked. When Penny's look didn't change, she extracted her hand from the tap, grabbed a clean cloth towel from a bin and attempted to pat her skin dry. When the bit of terry whispered across her hand and Hermione felt the overwhelming urge to heave up her lunch at the sudden gut tingling pain, she gave her final answer in the form of an inadvertent hiss.

Penny rolled her eyes and sighed as though it was the most inconvenient thing in the world, this working thing, and she tromped away to take over Hermione's station. "You should probably call your _not_ -boyfriend to come and get you then. Your shift was almost over anyway."

The only thing keeping Hermione from leveling the other woman with a glare worthy of sharding mountains was the persistent pain pounding from her hand now that it was no longer subject to the distraction of running water. Another wave of nausea passed over her as she was about to speak and Hermione snapped her mouth shut immediately lest something even less pleasant than intended decided to pour out. She took a moment to compose herself, wet the cloth under the cold water, and snuck away from the counter and all the accusatory eyes of customers on the other side, staring at her because how _dare_ she inconvenience them by needing to leave.

Hermione quickly gathered her things from a corner of the employee break area and haphazardly wrapped the wet cloth around her throbbing palm. She rifled through her pockets and her bag for the tiny slip of paper that had all the boys' numbers on it. Frowning, she considered scrapping the idea of calling Tom to get her and just walk home but the next pass of stinging, burning, dizzying pain made up her mind for her.

With a sigh, she jerked the receiver of some ancient looking excuse for a phone to her ear and punched in the numbers. The line rang once, twice, then half a ring before abruptly cutting to Tom's voicemail. Hermione blinked, almost offended, at the receiver as though the idea of her being forwarded to his mailbox never had occurred to her. With another, much more exasperated sigh, Hermione waited for his greeting to play so she could leave him a message.

The tone of the line shifted to the distinct sound of white noise in the background, signifying that someone had pressed record and readied themselves for speaking. The unmistakable sound of Tom's accented voice, all measured, even, and a tiny bit smug spoke up and his message played: " _William Penn once said 'time is what we want most, but what we use worst.' Do me a favour and don't waste mine."_

The harsh, long _**BEEEEEP**_ that followed barely jostled Hermione out of her mild shock that he had such a prattish message on his mobile. She shook her head to clear her thoughts and said, "Tom, it's Hermione – first, your message makes you sound like an arsehole. Second, I hurt myself at work. If you're not in class, I'd appreciate it if you could give me a lift to the house. If you're not here in fifteen, I'll assume you didn't get the message and start walking." Hermione opened her mouth and closed it once or twice more without sound, unsure of exactly how to close her message to her not-boyfriend-slash-roommate and added, "I'll uh…I'll see you later I suppose…bye."

Hermione lingered by the phone, staring at it awkwardly as though that would accomplish anything. She'd so seldom relied on others for things that the realization came to her that she wasn't actually used to willfully _waiting_ for much of anything.

Fidgeting, she adjusted the cloth over her hand again, checked the time to see exactly when fifteen minutes from then would be, and took up a seat nearby. There was no telly in the break area, just a ruddy old snack machine that always seemed to be mostly empty, a tiny, pungent fridge, and some rickety chairs and tables that were unfit to be placed out in the front of the shop. Hermione wiggled uncomfortably in her seat, thinking on some of the texts she had with her that she could try to occupy the time with but ultimately decided against getting sucked into anything. When she'd finished going back and forth on the issue for somewhere around the tenth time in her head and she was sure it had been _quite_ a while since she sat down, she checked the clock again.

 _Three minutes had passed._

A disgruntled noise left her and with a huff, Hermione hefted herself to her feet and tromped out of the room. If she was going to impatiently wait for anything, she would at least do it outside while there was still some light to enjoy.

Hermione made sure to tug her hat and apron off before she crossed into the lobby in the off chance that all the regulars would feel less inclined to approach her if she had shed the company colors. Her shoulders twitched when she felt her customers' heads turn as she passed and the awful phone script began playing of its own accord in her head when Mr. Lockhart's obnoxious ring tone for the significantly nicer lobby phone chimed out over loud hisses of steamed milk and the rumblings of grinding beans and blenders. Hermione caught what she assumed was a particularly baleful look from Penny out of the corner of her eye right before ducking past some more inbound patrons and into the freedom of the outside table settings, very nearly Andy Dufresne-ing in the sunlight.

Picking the seat farthest from Penny's viewpoint, Hermione tossed her things into one of the free chairs, slumped down into one across from it, and heaved out a tired breath.

"Rough day?"

Hermione startled upright from her hunch at the smooth, too close, albeit familiar, German accented voice. Her eyes darted around briefly before coming to rest on a familiar face a few paces away. Her shoulders eased a bit at the sight though not entirely. "Theodore?" she questioned with a tilt of her head. "What're you doing out this way?"

Theodore Nott smirked, the simple silver hoops at either corner of his bottom lip making the expression forever devilish. Holding up a small sheet of a fluorescent notepad, he shrugged. "Pansy sent me to recruit you under the guise of a coffee order."

At that, the small smile that had started creeping onto her face drooped. "Oh. Well…that was…a lot more forthcoming of an answer than I expected."

"I'm not really one for beating around the bush." He nodded at the seat across from her with her bag and asked, "May I?"

"Are you going to attempt to get me to join your weird aca-thing?"

"I had not planned on it at this time."

Hermione sized him up where he stood, scanning him from head to toe for any inkling of deception. When all she came away with was a rather unassuming man in a comfortable looking shirt and trousers with absurdly perfect posture, she sighed at him. "Sure, why the hell not? I've got a bit of time to kill anyway." She casually kicked the seat out for him and reached across the table with her uninjured hand to heft her bag from it. Motioning to the new spot with a nod of her head, she said, "Make yourself at home, Mr. Nott."

"Please," he started while seating himself, "my father is Mr. Nott. Call me Theo."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Right. Theo, then. Well… _Theo_ …if you're not going to draft me into your cult and-" Hermione peeked inside as much as she could at the epic line forming along the counter and went back to reclining. "-won't be filling that drink order any time in the foreseeable future, what else would have you still sitting at my table?"

Theo studied Hermione, much as she'd done to him earlier, though where she found nothing out of sorts, he found everything he'd expected to see and barely resisted chastising himself aloud for not recognizing her sooner. It must have been an exceptionally long silence that he'd lost himself in because he vaguely registered hearing her call his name again, this time with a look hedging on concern blooming on her face.

Theo shook his head. "I have a question for you." She visibly tensed and he attempted to assuage what he guessed was her primary fear. "It's not about the group. It's actually about this," he said softly and began rummaging through one of his pockets. The folded poster crinkled a bit in his hand and he opened it out and smoothed some edges before placing it on the table between them and sliding it forward.

Hermione felt the color drain from her face and her eyes flickered over the faded image in front of her. She barely registered the feel of the cold sweat forming between her shoulder blades and at her nape, could hardly think about it over the overwhelming instincts warring in the forefront of her mind beyond her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

 _Fight or flee?_

 _Fight? Or flee?_

Her eyes darted back to Theo's and she attempted to school her expression quickly and, though she knew she'd failed miserably in that task, feigned confusion. "That appears to be a playbill for _A Chorus Line_." The shrug that accompanied the dismissive comment was fumbled and awkward. "I-I'm really not sure how I can help you—" If possible, she blanched further when a program from said show with her old university's seal stamped proudly on its cover slid into view.

"Of all the shows, why was _this_ the last one?"

Hermione swallowed audibly and the images blurred. She blinked several times only to have them skew more and more before her and, before she could start blubbering, Hermione sniffed loudly, scrubbed at her face with her cloth covered hand and reached for her bag with the other. "Sorry, _Mr. Nott_ , afraid that's a bit personal. Give my regards to Pansy when you see her next, won't you? Maybe reinforce my decision to abstain from this crazy nonsense?"

She'd shot up from her seat so quickly that Theodore was barely able to untangle himself from his own to catch her. "Hermione, wait! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" He snatched up the old playbill and program and latched onto the closest thing he could reach.

When Theo clamped down on her burned hand, Hermione let out a squawking noise of pain that surprised them both but followed it up with a closefisted swing aimed for the general vicinity of his face with her shoulder rolling her full weight into the motion - _fight it is, then_. She had unconsciously braced herself for the impact with his cheek or some other soft piece of his person and, as such, found herself entirely boggled when he reacted.

Hermione wasn't entirely sure how Theodore had managed it, but in the measure of seconds, he'd pivoted away from her leading arm with an airy kind of grace, his front pressing to her back as her body followed through with her punch and neglected to hit any resistance at all. As she was falling forward, her confusion over his elegant dodge dissolved in favor of the surge of panic as the ground started to come into view _very_ quickly.

And yet, just like that, her forward motion was halted by way of Theo's grip.

One of his hands stretched artfully along the underside of her outstretched arm and the other circled precisely around her torso, landing perfectly at the dip of her waist and sliding into place as she fell until her momentum shifted from a flailing mess into a feather-like fall. When her face stopped inches from the cement, Hermione's panic receded once again and pure befuddlement took its place in the look she turned up to Theodore.

To his credit, Theo seemed just as shocked as she was when they locked stares. His eyes had gone wide and a prominent blush was spreading in his cheeks and over top his nose. In that moment, Hermione began to suspect Theo's questioning about her old life had more to it than anything related to Pansy's group; much _much_ more.

"Am I interrupting something?"

Theo jumped at the openly annoyed tenor of Tom Riddle, turning to see him staring at them both and looking on the verge of murder. In a flash, he unhanded the girl in his arms, her resulting yelp as she finally hit the ground causing him to clasp both hands over his mouth. " _SHIT._ Sorry, Hermione! I—" Theo spared a glance back up at Tom who was growing redder in the face by the second and, without thinking on it any longer, turned and sprinted in a direction that could only be described as _'away from Tom Riddle.'_ _**"Sorry!"**_

"Hey!" Tom, who was far too late in catching Hermione in her final plummet, snarled at Theo's retreating back. When it was clear the man was intent on clearing miles between them before every turning round, Tom settled on helping her up instead and brushing dirt and dust from her person. "Are you alright?"

Hermione halfheartedly brushed away debris along with him while turning a furrowed brow in the direction of the now long escaped Theodore Nott. "I think so?"

Tom also turned to look again, an intense scowl on his face when he asked, "What the bloody hell was all that?"

"That was… _ **really**_ fucking weird is what that was." Hermione groaned, rubbing the side that had connected roughly with the concrete. "And I thought being homeless had been an experience…is _all_ of Pansy's crew entirely bonkers?"

Tom took up massaging the sore spot she was tending to and gave her another look over, eyes landing on the reddened hand that had lost its cloth in her tumble. His scowl morphed more toward concern than anger. "I'm unfamiliar with the other one in the group," he said offhandedly while tugging her hand up for closer examination. "What happened here?"

Hermione stopped fussing with her clothing in light of Tom's gentler tone. "I uh-" She flushed under his careful scrutiny. "It's just a burn, Tom. Nothing all that crazy in this line of work. Let it alone."

He frowned, turned her hand to and fro a bit more until his thumb accidentally brushed her skin and her reflexive hiss and flinch nearly jerked it out of his grip. Tom placed an apologetic set of kisses to her uninjured knuckles, more an overly careful brush of lips than anything, gave her hair a soft stroke and coaxed her bag from her shoulder. "If you say so, dove. Ready to go?"

Hermione nodded, hiding the flush to her cheeks by ducking her head and allowing herself to lean in to his side as he ushered her towards his car.

* * *

 **A/N:** I hope you're all ready for this malarkey to be back...because it is. Thanks everyone for the support through my longer than expected break from moving! Also thanks for all the well wishes FOR and ABOUT the move! I'm relocated and kind of settled in now with a lot of things beginning to get back to normal. If anyone wasn't aware, I'm on Tumblr! Come visit and say hello and we'll entertain each other. dulce-de-leche-go


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N:** I mentioned it on Tumblr but I'll say it again: I'm pretty sure this is the crackiest chapter of this fic that I've written thus far. I would say I'm sorry but...I'm not. This is a very late upload but I was happy to get it done, however, that means it's not properly scanned for heinous errors. Consider that heads up/warning!

 **Aca-Playlist:** Since U Been Gone by Kelly Clarkston as performed by the Cast of Pitch Perfect.

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 30**

Upon returning to the house, Hermione found herself being doted upon by a supremely stubborn Tom Riddle. He very pointedly grabbed her belongings before she could attempt to retrieve them as she exited his car and when she flopped and sprawled onto the living room couch with an exhausted sigh, he cropped up again moments later with a well-stocked first aid kit. Hermione did all of a few seconds of protesting at his hovering before she found one of his most stern scowls directed at her. There was something about the genuine concern lurking there in the way Tom kept eying her injured hand that made her resolve wither and, before she knew it, Hermione had a freshly bandaged hand and was sitting atop a sideboard table in The Chamber watching him prepare for the night's performance. Her feet dangled off the edge with a large bowl of freshly popped popcorn on her lap and she sipped at some icy smoothie sherbet thing that Tom had concocted for her all while she admired his backside as he adjusted microphone stands.

"Ugh!" A familiar voice made a loud sound of outrage from the doorway to the practice room. "There is NO food allowed in The Chamber you savage!"

Hermione turned her head to see Blaise giving her a narrow eyed look while fiddling with his bowtie. She gave him a wide, bright smile and set her drink down on the table so she could dig a hand into her popcorn bowl and shove an overflowing handful of it into her mouth. Cheeks puffed out like some sort of hoarding rodent, she said, _"Herro vhere!"_ His expression went from squinting and irate to wide eyed and utterly aghast.

Blaise sputtered and made to start in on her, taking a few long strides in Hermione's direction but was met halfway with a looming Tom.

"Leave off," Tom said in a no nonsense tone.

Blaise opened his mouth to protest the man's lapse in his sense of cleanliness and sanity but when he looked up into Tom's face and saw the glare to match the tone, his jaw snapped shut – but not before he got a little huff out. "Fine," he muttered, successfully appeasing the other man to the point where he continued his rehearsal prep.

Cheekily, Hermione grinned, showcasing little bits of partially chewed popcorn and earning another disgusted noise from her disgruntled roommate. Swinging her legs a bit more cheerily, she went to reach for her drink and heard a hollow _clunk_ and then a _whizzing_ noise. By the time Hermione looked up, a hefty circle of corkboard connected with her forehead. _**"OW!"**_

" _Blaise—"_ Tom's voice, now more annoyed than anything, rumbled from across the room.

"Just giving our neighborhood criminal a coaster, Tom! Those glasses sweat, you know. And probably aren't even ours."

With an exasperated sigh and, what he was certain was an audible rolling of his eyes, Tom said softly, "Dove? To shut his gob?"

Rubbing at her forehead where the coaster had smacked her, Hermione glared at Blaise but eventually tucked the offensive object under her drink.

Blaise cooed, "You two are so _'twee!'_ I love it."

" _Blaise_ -" Tom's voice sounded in warning again.

"What's 'twee?'"

All three heads turned to focus on the newly added voice to see a partially uniformed Marcus combing his fingers back through freshly gelled hair and proceeding to not so discreetly wipe his hands on the sides of his slacks.

"These two!" Blaise swept an arm in the direction of their other roommates, both of which looked openly perturbed.

Marcus blinked at a now glaring Tom Riddle and a red faced Hermione then back at Blaise. "Is that like another word for," he paused to think a moment, " _'shagging'_ or something?"

Tom's sour look gained an added sheen of red to his cheeks and neck at the wistful way Blaise was grinning between himself and their curly haired roommate and how Marcus was simply eying them both quizzically as though they were organisms in a Petri dish ready to be studied. "OY! Tossers! We're not your bloody pet project! Stop putzing around and start warming up!" Tom snarled at them both, the pair of them poorly stifling their titters before finally beginning their body and vocal warmups. There were a great deal of cycled breathing, shaking of limbs and body, and a whole lot of lips vibrating with exhaled breaths that followed to the point where it sounded like a mess of tiny motorboats were puttering around their rehearsal room.

"Loosen your lips, Marc," Blaise snapped.

Marcus' motorboat impression stopped and he huffed at the shorter man. "They ARE fucking loose."

" _LANGUAGE._ And they're not loose enough!" He jabbed Marcus in the chest a few times until he'd effectively altered the man's posture and then smoothed his hands over Marcus' shoulders and chest in time with his own breathing. Marcus scowled a moment but eventually followed suit, taking a deep breath in then releasing it in time with Blaise, working in lip rolls to the rotation – the motorboats were back – and continued until Blaise was beaming at him.

"There you go! Now, head voice to chest voice and back!"

Hermione watched from her perch with growing interest, sipping the last of her beverage while listening to each of the boys go through their exercises and work through their scales with an ear to ear smile on her face. She wasn't sure how long she'd been spectating before Tom let out an annoyed grunt and tossed his arms up.

"Where the hell _are_ those two?"

Blaise stopped his tuning, checked the wall clock in The Chamber then turned to Tom with a flat, "Somewhere else being late, apparently."

"Are they bloody fucking _serious_ —"

The scowl that Hermione was so used to seeing, even if it wasn't directed at her all that much as of late, was back and clear as crystal on Tom's face. She saw the red creeping into his neck and could even make out the telltale ticking of the one prominent jaw muscle that she'd learned to recognize as a sign early on. Before she really knew what she was doing, she'd chirped out a 'helpful,' "Perhaps you can go ahead and start?" Tom's angry expression shifted, latched on to her and, _surprisingly_ , dissipated into what she would define as more of a 'displeased pout.'

Even with his explosion defused, Tom still let out a handful of disgruntled noises. "We're down a baritone and a vocal percussionist," he said plainly as all the explanation she required.

Marcus gave their leader a shrug. "Rehearse from somewhere in the middle of the set? Something where they won't be missed as much? 'Since U Been Gone?'"

Hermione watched Tom huff again and thought it may have very well been the strangest, yet somehow near to the most endearing behavior she'd witnessed from the man yet.

"Vocal percussionist," he said again, pointedly.

Marcus frowned, looking to Blaise for support.

Blaise let out an exasperated sigh. "Bass or beatboxing. One or the other, not both."

The large man's face fell and Hermione could feel the tension winding up once more in her not-boyfriend from across the room. _Not the first time this has happened,_ she thought to herself. _That or he's just prone to tantrums._ Hermione gave him the benefit of the doubt and slipped off her seat, carefully approaching the group of them. Biting at her lip, she assured herself that she wouldn't regret it and said meekly, "I'll help?"

It was as though someone had let the sun shine right into the room with how much Tom's whole demeanor changed. "What?"

"What?"

" _What?"_

The three simultaneous questions startled her and Hermione unconsciously edged closer to Tom and away from the others. Swallowing down a lump in her throat, she took a breath and said more formally, more confidently, "I'll _help._ "

Tom's eyes were wide and the smile that was quickly spreading across his face was practically electric and such a welcome sight that Hermione found herself caught up in it, feeling a grin trying to tug at her own lips. She dipped her head to hide the expression, scratching at the back of her neck awkwardly.

"Hoodlum," Blaise began, folding his arms skeptically, "this isn't karaoke night."

Hermione looked up and blinked at him, confused.

"Oh, come _on_ , Blaise," Marcus interrupted, throwing an arm around her shoulders. "This one's easy! Show it to her and she can fill in for Regulus."

She blinked owlishly at Marcus then once more at Blaise. "Were you… _not_ at the pub the night I allegedly keyed that prat's car?"

Tom failed to hide his smirk at her use of the word 'allegedly.' Blaise snorted outright.

Marcus looked down at the girl in the circle of his arm and smiled brightly. "Of course we were! Though, I gotta say, we were pretty _knackered_ by that point," he added thoughtfully.

"Knackered?"

"Drunk!"

" _Pissed,_ you mean."

"Oh no, we weren't mad."

"No, no—" Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, reminding herself not to encourage them. "Forget it…can we just…do the thing?"

"Hermione," Blaise said, suddenly there and waggling a finger in her face. "I'm not kidding! This isn't just _mucking_ _around_ like at the bar! I mean, that was very cute, what you did, but we're professionals here."

A finely sculpted eyebrow arched slowly as Hermione listened to her roommate rambling on about her probable shortcomings and her thinking she was some sort of _American Idol_ starlet because she could carry a country tune. She noticed the faintest tingling of something down her spine that felt suspiciously like **serious outrage and offense**. Hermione opened her mouth, ready to say something _quite_ foul when out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Tom looking red faced again, although this time with barely contained laughter.

Her jaw clamped shut and she palmed Blaise's face in the midst of his nattering, pushing him aside. "You didn't say anything," Hermione said slowly, although the hint of a question and surprise sat in each syllable.

Tom, calming himself enough to give her a shrug and another warm smile, reached out and tugged lightly at a cluster of her curls. His smile widened when the strands sprung back into their tight coil. "Not my business to tell, dove."

She felt another tingle down her back at his words and this time it felt a great deal nicer than the one before. Hermione swore that seeing him smile – seeing him _really_ smile like just then – was a thing she could never tire of. "Th-thank you, Tom," she said shyly.

" _Rude!_ You are _SO_ rude!" Blaise flailed back into her line of sight.

"Show her the beats, Blaise."

"See! LIKE I was saying—wait—what?" The man sputtered as he watched Tom snatch the mic that he usually claimed as his own from its stand. "Where are you going with that?"

Tom passed the mic to Hermione, sending a stern look over his shoulder with a bit of Cockney edging his tone. "Did I fucking stutter, mate? Come on, we've wasted enough time."

Blaise looked at the pair of them, Tom settling back into his usual position behind his normal stand and Hermione looking particularly smug. "Oh. Oh, I fucking _see_." He huffed and if his lower lip was jutting far, _far_ out from its typical position, he'd never admit it.

Hermione chewed at her lip to try and suppress the terrible, _terrible_ grin but eventually said, "You're so very _twee_ just there with your bitty bowtie and pout, Blaisie—"

" _TZZZZZT!"_ Blaise hissed. Tromping over to Regulus' spot, he snatched up that mic and plucked the one Hermione was holding from her hands in a lightning fast movement before shoving the former into her grip instead. " _MY_ mic."

Marcus groaned. "For FUCK'S sake, man—"

With one last disgruntled _"FINE,"_ Blaise finally ceased his complaining and led Hermione in a simple looping round of a rather good, albeit somewhat exaggerated imitation of drums and a hi-hat and gave her a curt instruction to basically just follow his lead.

Hermione chuckled and shook her head, but when her mimicked example earned her a begrudging admittance that she "didn't completely suck at it," she took position in front of them where she could see them all.

Tom caught her eye, gave her a bit of a reassuring nod and then blew into the pitch pipe he'd tugged from his pocket.

And so they began.

Blaise started them off with an upbeat tempo of _dum dum dum_ noises that set Hermione's head bobbing pleasantly alongside his vocalizing. Behaving herself for the moment, she listened intently to his note changes, gripping her mic high and close to her mouth while keeping a steady eye on him as he watched her back like a hawk…or really more of an ornery ostrich. When he pointed at her to join in with their earlier rehearsed beatboxing, it sounded _quite_ different than before.

Hermione watched Blaise's expression shift into one of plain astonishment as her seemingly nonsensical percussion sounds came out clean, crisp, and nearly effortless.

It was almost as though she'd _actually_ done something like it before. Professionally.

 _Funny that._

Blaise appeared so utterly flummoxed in those few seconds that Hermione had to shut her eyes against the laughter trying to bubble up in her chest. Once she'd gotten herself under control, she reopened them and found two other sets of eyes watching her. One held a familiar fondness that made all sorts things in her tingle and clench pleasantly while the other was nearly as amazed – though significantly more excited – than Blaise had been.

Marcus was so busy between deciding if he was grinning or gaping that he just about fumbled his entrance. _"Here's the thing: we started out friends. It was cool, but it was all prete—end. Yeah, yeah, since you been gone."_

Hermione grinned behind the cover of her hand, never wavering her small part as Tom's smooth tenor flooded her senses and shifted the previous heaviness of the room into something lighter. The way he looked at her from behind that microphone – he was as charming as she'd ever seen him. Tom put his free hand to his chest and she could hear his smile easily in each word he sang.

" _ **You're dedicated, you took the time. Wasn't long 'til I called you mi—ine. Yeah, yeah, since you been gone."**_

" _And all you'd ever hear me say is how I pictured me with you."_ Marcus, noting the unusually happy airiness coming from his group leader, turned a curious glance onto Tom. _'Puppy dog eyes. Definitely,'_ he thought upon catching the man's swooning. _"That's all you'd ever hear me say—"_

" _ **But since you been go—ne, I can bre-athe for the first time! I'm so moving on! Yeah, yeah!"**_

Shifting his gaze over to Hermione, Marcus was more than a little surprised to see Tom's expression reflected on her own face amid her flawless beatboxing. _"Thanks to you—"_

"— _ **thanks to you."**_

Thinking on it as he sang alongside Tom, he was sure that Pansy had an expression for it. _"Now I get—"_

"— _ **now I get what I wa—nt!"**_

They were _**eye fucking**_ _._ That was it!

As though he'd been reading his mind, Marcus felt Blaise tap him on the shoulder. When he looked back, he saw that Blaise had settled his mic into its stand seemingly for the sole purpose of freeing both hands to make a lewd miming gesture that Marcus understood as ' _penis in vagina; repeatedly.'_

Marcus turned eyes forward again, stifling a childish snicker and belted one last line before making up his mind to meddle.

" _ **Since you been go—ne!"**_

Hermione had lost herself in the steady beat and warmth of Tom's vocals. His notes coiled around her sweetly, _intimately_ , as if he'd been singing for her and only her since they'd started. She'd watched him perform before and had been decidedly unaffected, but this time… _this time_ there was something just _different_ about it.

It was thanks to the muddled mess of her brain trying to pluck out what had changed that she hadn't even realized when Marcus had taken a few long strides to where she'd been standing. There was a heartbeat more before he then reached out and tugged her backwards to where he'd been singing before. Hermione faltered as Marcus moved her but he seamlessly took up a rhythmic, albeit weaker, version of her beatboxed sounds in her stead. She felt the weight of his grip turn her until she was facing Tom again, this time much, _much_ closer.

And "on stage."

The sudden feeling of being _there,_ sandwiched between them, as they performed with their stage presence just shifting and swirling and roiling _around_ her triggered something in the back of Hermione's mind. She felt a creeping, sickening chill spread throughout her limbs.

It was the closest she'd been to being on a real stage since…since _**then.**_

"You pick it up from here," Marcus whispered into her ear, utterly clueless to her rocketing anxiety.

Tom watched the color drain from Hermione's face in those moments and saw as her eyes glossed, flicking in the direction of their would-be audience. Sensing the spike in her nerves, he instinctively stepped forward, scooped up her bandaged hand and pressed a soft kiss over the knuckles. All at once, her head snapped back in his direction, her eyes clearing at his gentle touch. When he saw her blink at him, her mouth falling open in a small _"o",_ he gave her a reassuring grin.

Tom let her hand go, his fingertips lingering at hers to savor that final brush of skin before moving to cover his heart with his palm. _**"How can I put it? You put me on. I even fell for that**_ _ **stupid**_ _ **love song! Yeah, yeah, since you been gone."**_

It was the smallest of gestures - those touches, his encouragement - and lasted barely even a few seconds, but it jostled something loose inside of her that made certain memories just that much further away.

Hermione sang out softly, " _Since you been go—ne."_

He practically beamed at her – hell, Tom _was_ beaming at her. Seeing him, again, looking like—what _was_ that look anyway?

" _ **How come I never hear you say:"**_

 _Pride_ , Hermione realized, her next words slipping out in a breathy harmony with his own, _"'I just want to be with you'?"_

He was looking at her with _pride._

" _I guess you never felt that way—"_

That chill from before was blasted from her bones with her realization and she dipped her head in the strangest surge of bashfulness. Despite the hot color in her face, Hermione felt herself smiling uncontrollably, nose scrunched and cheeks dimpled to the point of aching.

 _Suddenly, the stage didn't seem all that daunting._

Blaise and Marcus were watching the funny display from a few feet away but the change in their tiny roommate was palpable. A tightness to her that neither of them had noticed before had been released; her whole stance opened up.

Her posture straightened.

Her stance widened.

Her head even came back up with a toss of those curls, so voluminous and lush that a hair care model would have swooned.

 _It made her look bigger somehow…like fluffed plumage.  
_

" _ **But since you been gone!"**_

If either had also had a glance to spare for Tom it would have been more obvious than ever before that he was truly and utterly _lost_. _"Ye—ah!"_

They moved in sync, voices mingling and complimenting the other in an intricate blending of empowered song.

" _ **I can breathe for the first time! I'm so moving on, yeah, yeah!"**_

Note for note.

" _ **Thanks to you—"**_

"— _thanks to you—"_

Pitch for pitch.

" _ **Now I get—"**_

"— _now I get—"_

It was perfect.

"— _ **what I wa—nt!"**_

" _Since you been gone!"_

 _They_ were perfect.

Hermione tipped her head back, eyes squinched shut, with her microphone poised far enough away for her to belt, _**"You had your chance! You blew it!"**_

" _You had your chance!"_

" _ **Out of sight, out of mind!"**_

" _Shut your mouth—"_

" _ **Shut your mouth, I just can't take it!"**_

" _Again and again and again and again and again and_ _ **again!**_ _"_ Tom's voice resonated in the room as the others' vocals dropped off. His eyes, having fallen shut against the passionate stretch of song that came from his soon-to-officially-be girlfriend, reopened and settled on her lightly flushed face where she was easily settling her breathing back down. She smirked at him and her shoulders rose and fell in the tiniest of shrugs even while she fiddled with the cord of her mic.

The fuzzy headed tingling and Tom's prominent and growing urge to lead Hermione back upstairs to his room was abruptly squashed by a loud, indignant huff from the doorway.

" _Well._ I didn't think being a little late would get us _replaced_."

Everyone jolted out of the daze they'd been to see Abraxas and Regulus standing by the door.

Abraxas pushed off from where he'd been leaning against the frame and moved to close the distance between them all. "That's some shite, eh?" he called back over his shoulder good naturedly.

Following after Abraxas, Regulus pulled up to the edge of their makeshift stage. He gave Tom a long, knowing look before focusing back on Hermione to flash her a sly sort of smile. "Think I need a smoke after all _that_ there. It was good, though," he said. "Very good."

"Ah, yeah...thanks." Hermione gave an awkward nod as she settled her microphone back into its stand.

"Anytime, love. You available for a _duet_ later on?" Regulus purred teasingly with an added wink.

Hermione had barely even processed the question before she saw the movement of her neatly pressed not-boyfriend moving with a swift and _extremely_ agitated gait towards the long haired and somewhat scruffy looking member of their group.

"Black, I'd like a _word-_ "

Following that, the larger, bulkier form of Marcus zipped after Tom in an attempt to restrain him from whatever was just itching to happen. It was all a bit of a blur for Hermione, however, seeing as Blaise was suddenly in her line of vision, turning her around and ushering her towards the entrance of The Chamber as a cacophony of raised voices began to fill the air behind them.

Hermione sputtered, smacking at Blaise's ever insistent pushing and nudging but it wasn't until she was across the threshold that she finally noticed the actual anxious look on his face. When he realized she was staring up at him curiously, he glanced back over his shoulder quickly before giving her a tight smile.

"Hey!" Blaise chirped. "You did good, Hoodlum!"

"— _can't just show wen yer bloody well feel like it!"_

Hermione tried to peer around him but Blaise just slid to the side with her. "We just have a bit of group business to discuss."

"— _had things to take care of! Calm your tits, Riddle—"_

"But—"

"You understand, of course."

"— _roll up nearly firty minutes late—"_

"Does this happen often?" Hermione asked with a frown and dumbfounded blinking in the direction of what seemed like Marcus and Abraxas now trying to defuse the situation.

" _Guys, come on."_

" _Tom, really, calm down."_

"Oh," Blaise started, his expression stretching into something that very plainly said ' _Ehhh, yes, you KNOW the answer is YES.'_ " _ **YA**_ _know…_ may have happened once or twice."

"— _ **and on top of it all yer go chattin' up me girl!"**_

Hermione's eyes widened and she saw the color drop out of Blaise's face a touch.

With his mouth set in a grim line, he blinked down at her.

She blinked back.

"Yeah, so, you should probably wait out here."

And with that, he gave Hermione one final little nudge to clear the doorway and she found the door shut and locked in her face.

Even that close to the door, with it actually closed and locked for once, Hermione had trouble hearing much of anything through the soundproofing. Curiously, she leaned in close and then closer still, until her ear was nearly pressed against the wood.

 _ **BANG!**_

Hermione jolted upright, startled by the vibrations of what she hoped was just some junk getting tossed about.

The air was suspiciously still all around for a long moment afterwards until she was sure she could sense footsteps heading back in the direction of the door. Straightening up as though she absolutely had _not_ been trying to eavesdrop, Hermione waited for it to reopen.

A _click-bzzzzrrrt_ sounded and the light outside The Chamber came on.

Hermione now stared at the inoffensive little red lightbulb on the wall, listening to its quiet hum of electricity and, eventually, gave a heavy, exasperated sigh.

"And I thought theatre kids were dramatic…"


	31. Chapter 31

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 31**

"Can anyone tell me _why_ it is, again, that we decided to pile into this rickety piece of— _ **OW!**_ " Blaise was cut off by a sharp elbow to his side. Shooting a glare to his right towards a Tom Riddle that was only somewhat convincingly casually looking out the passenger side window, Blaise rubbed his sore side with a sneer. "Fuck you, Tom. Why are we taking this fucking antique to the bar again?"

" _Language,"_ Hermione said in a sing-song voice, earning herself a glare as well.

Marcus piped up cheerily from the seat directly behind Hermione where he was sticking his head out much like a dog. "Stop _whinging_ , Blaise. I've never ridden in a Town Car before. You really _**can**_ fit like seven people in the cab!"

"And roughly three adult bodies in the trunk," Hermione added offhandedly. "Possibly also a wee person if you tuck them into that weird little shelf-ledge thing towards the back." She flicked her blinker on for a left turn and, in checking the road for cars, she caught Blaise _and_ Tom staring at her. " _What?_ "

"How do you know about—no, you know what? Never mind." Blaise shook his head, folded his arms and slouched heavily into his spot between Hermione and Tom, strapped onto the awkward bump of space that their two wide, lounge-like chairs made. "It just seems like a lot more effort than I think it's worth, is all. Having to get this clunker to the pump and fuel it, for one, and THEN filling it up? Twenty gallons— _ **premium**_ —for, what? Twelve miles to the gallon?"

"Ten," Hermione replied.

"Ten?!" Blaise gasped and sat back, bewildered. " _Fuck!_ Jesus, we could've taken ALL of our cars and still made out with better fuel efficiency than that!"

"We're taking her car because there's no sense in bringing so many to the pub when we could all fit in one, alright? You know how the lot gets." Tom said with an agitated sigh, turning his gaze outward again. "Now _leave_ it."

Blaise stared hard at the side of Tom's head with a grimace and a huff. "Fit? We don't 'fit.' When someone has to ride bitch—" He paused to gesture to his current placement in the total afterthought of a seat. "—you don't all _'fit.'_ "

Without moving his gaze from watching the passing landscape in the seat behind Tom, Regulus spoke up. "To be fair to Hermione, mate, regardless of where you were to plant your arse, it'd always be the bitch seat with how much you bitch and moan."

Blaise turned a most appalled look back over his shoulder. "REGULUS ARCTURUS BLACK!"

"Oooooo," Marcus teased from across the way on the far end of the bench seat, "You got the _full_ call out, Regs."

Regulus shrugged and grinned. "Worth it."

"Blaise," Hermione chided, expertly stifling her amusement, "Boys, are you finished?"

Turning back around with another huff, Blaise refolded his arms across his chest. " _No._ Besides this terrible excuse for a safety belt-" He tugged at his sad, uncomfortable little lap belt, "-there is this obnoxious, incessant BUZZING that's been driving me crazy ever since we got on the road."

Hermione felt her head turning of its own accord so that she could deliver a long, pointed look to the man to her right. A single fine eyebrow climbed up towards her hairline. "Yeah," she said dully, "I know what you mean. It's been driving me positively bonkers this whole bloody way. Ever since we got in the car, really."

"Eyes on the road, Hoodlum!" Blaise said, pointing and ignoring the definitive stink eye she gave him before facing frontwards once more. "I'm serious. There's this really obnoxious noise coming from…here-ish," he said, moving a hand to wave a circle in the general vicinity of the massive front windshield.

The next stop they made at an intersection, the entire crew was silent, as if listening for the telltale buzzing that Blaise was yammering about.

After a beat, Tom looked across Blaise to Hermione. "I hate to say it, but I hear it too. What is that, dove?"

Blushing lightly at the endearment, Hermione's shoulders tucked up around her ears as if to hide regardless of the fact that nobody in the car seemed even mildly phased aside from her. Clearing her throat, she mumbled and nodded towards the rear view mirror, "Likely that."

Blaise squinted at the thing, leaning forward and listening harder. After a few seconds with a newly confused look, he asked, "Why the hell is it making that noise? Sounds like a cheap vibrator over your dash."

The side-eye Hermione sent his way was brief, yet so very fierce. "The original one fell off some time back. I had to replace it with this dinky little thing because I was too poor to afford the factory replacement. A nicked rear view from an auto shop and some mounting squares were more in my price range. Are you _done_ being an arse now?"

Blaise's shoulders stiffened slightly at the reminder of her unfortunate monetary state but before he could reply, Marcus asked, "What's 'nicked' again?"

In unison, Hermione, Tom, Regulus, and even Abraxas who had been engrossed in fiddling with some questionable texting on his mobile replied flatly with: _"Stole."_

Blaise's gasp and outrage was supreme. "Of all the things to steal you stole THAT piece of shit?" A flick to his right ear had Blaise batting away Tom's hand. " _FUCK YOU, Tom!_ " With an added slap to his group leader's arm, he turned back to Hermione. "Remind me when I'm sober again tomorrow and we'll order you a proper one because _that_ is annoying as shit."

Where she'd previously felt her neck and her cheeks and her _hair_ getting hot and agitated, Hermione suddenly cooled and blinked back at her housemate. "We'll what?"

"Did I _stutter_? We'll order you a new one that won't make that stupid noise."

The thought of any more of these boys spending any more money on her than they already had made her complexion take a turn for the sallow. They'd all already been more than generous. "N-no, Blaise, that's okay. It's not—"

"It won't cost him a thing," Tom cut in, having noted her quickly turning to panic expression. "Family business and all."

"Your family does _cars_?" Hermione couldn't decide if this new knowledge made any more or less sense towards aspects of Blaise's impossible personality. She also wasn't sure if it made her feel any better or worse what with knowing he would be using personal connections for her benefit instead of money.

"Well, technically, mom's family business is being a career widow." Blaise shrugged. "But, yes, she does enjoy the dealerships quite a lot. Lexus one year, Chrysler the next, it won't be an issue, Hoodlum. Just remind me."

"If I remember…" Shaking her head to herself, Hermione guided her car in to the already profoundly crowded pub parking lot in search of a space. Frowning but happy for an excuse to change the subject, she asked, "Is it always this busy this early?"

Tom, who had also noticed the abnormally large number of cars as soon as they'd neared the property, was frowning deeply. "No…not typically."

Regulus scanned the area from his seat with a curious expression as well. "Last time I saw it full like this was—"

" _ **Shite."**_

All eyes turned to the soft hiss of a curse from the middle-back seat.

Abraxas, feeling the stares, some growing more heated than others, tore his gaze from the illuminated screen of his phone with a sheepish look. "It occurs to me," he started, trying his best to disappear into the leather seat, "that I may have forgotten to inform you all of a 'schedule change' that Pansy had…ah…advised me of the other day. Swapped this week's agenda for next week's due to…availabilities and whatnot."

"For NEXT week's?"

The growl in Tom's tenor made Hermione refocus wide, baffled eyes onto her not-boyfriend and she looked between him and the rest of them all. "What? What's happening? Are you not performing tonight?"

Marcus leaned his tall frame over Abraxas' and peered down at the man's phone screen, releasing a loud groan at the texts there. "Abraxas— _really?_ "

"I'm SORRY! I forgot, okay?"

Hermione, still utterly clueless, found a free spot somewhere far, far from the entrance of the pub and pulled in. Cutting the engine, she blinked dumbly at the boys who—save for Tom, who was glowering in the passenger seat—had begun to bicker and snap at Abraxas.

"Boys?"

Nothing.

"Guys?"

Still fussing with one another.

Hermione rolled her eyes, unbuckled and moved to lean against the padded interior of her door so she could give the lot of them an annoyed look before letting out her best stage shout of _**"OY CUNTS!"**_

The sudden silence was jarring.

"So…" Hermione cleared her throat. "What's the deal?"

Tom loudly unclipped his seatbelt and made a show of unlocking his door before giving Abraxas a good, solid glare. "It's the bleeding _Riff Off_ tonight." With that, he pushed open the door, climbed out, and slammed the steel good and hard behind him.

As if his exit gave them all permission, the back seat emptied out quickly, leaving just her and Blaise in the front. Hermione turned that same confused look back on him. "What's a _'Riff Off?'_ "

Puzzling over what the big bloody deal could be, Hermione was about to ask another question when the door she was leaning against opened suddenly. With her support vanished, she went tumbling out the driver's side, landing in an unceremonious heap atop the collective shiny dress shoes of Tom Riddle and his Pips.

Blaise's initially concerned, quickly moving to amused at her expense, expression peeked out from within the Town Car. He gave her the barest of shrugs as Tom nearly stumbled over himself trying to set her back onto her feet. "You're about to find out."

* * *

 **A/N:** I offer a short transitional fluff/slapstick chapter for your enjoyment on this most mediocre Sunday. Trivia fact, Hermione's Town Car is basically the Town Car that I owned several years ago. Those things are such a nice, smooth ride...when everything works.

Also, as not so subtly hinted at above, the Riff Off begins next chapter.


	32. Chapter 32 (The Riff Off - The Rules)

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 32**

 **The Riff Off – The Rules**

Hermione thought that the _outside_ of the pub had looked packed but when she entered with the boys, she found she'd not been wholly prepared for the mass of bodies crowding it at all. After traversing the obstacle of Joe the Bouncer with far more ease than done previously – making sure to take a moment to make a great deal of inappropriate eye contact as she walked backwards among them, sure to burn the image of them all _together_ into his brain with a firm _"I bloody told you so!"_ as they passed, of course – Hermione slammed into Marcus' broad back. The pungent smell of body heat, sweat, and booze mingled together and hit her like a slap across the face just beyond the threshold leading to the main room of the pub.

" _Shit."_

She heard a murmured curse from Blaise as Marcus was righting her from her stumble. She barely got a chance to take in the throng of people milling about before she was being corralled along the side of the wall towards a door by the stage.

" _Go, go, go, go, go,"_ Marcus huffed over her head, nudging her along quickly.

"Wha—Marcus, stop! I can walk! What the—"

" _Shh! Voice down!"_ he hissed at her but it was far too late.

" _ **LOOK! They're here!"**_

" _ **YESSS! I TOLD you they hadn't come in yet! I've been here for HOURS!"**_

" _ **REGGIE! REGGIE WAIT!"**_

A series of piercing, girlish squeals flooded Hermione's senses followed by an unintelligible, yet clearly hostile noise from Tom and shortly thereafter she found herself being hefted over Marcus' shoulder like a sack. The sudden movement made her head spin and forced a grunt from her but before she could snap at him, the flailing movement of several perfectly manicured hands holding fancy daiquiris and some umbrella garnished cocktails caught her eye. Hermione blinked, her mouth opening to instead dumbly ask what the hell was happening when the source of the screeching became evident as some of the hands sprouted owners who were shoving and pushing bodies aside and attempting to make a beeline for her and the boys.

" _ **MARCUS! WILL YOU SIGN MY CD? WAIT! MARCUS!"**_

Hermione gasped when they squealed again and reached down to slap Marcus on the ass with her bandage-free hand. "GO! Marcus, GO! Raptors! You've got raptors on your arse! Holy shite, man, _MOVE!_ "

Marcus said nothing in response but the distance between them and the screechers increased rapidly until they were all safely behind the stage door and in an impressively large – and seemingly new-ish looking – backstage area of the bar. He slid her off his shoulder and down his front, steadying her little wobble once she was back on her feet. "You alright?" he asked, helping her straighten her top and re-fluff her hair.

Hermione nodded, shaking the dizzy spots from her vision as the excess blood rushed back out of her head. "Peachy," she said. "What the hell was that?"

He shrugged helplessly, the movement almost comical coming from his extra-large frame. "Our version of groupies I guess? Pansy calls them Aca-Bitches."

Blaise's hand came seemingly out of nowhere to smack Marcus hard on the arm. "Shhh! Don't say her name! She's like a bloodhound, she'll hear you!"

"But their thing is smel—OW!"

Blaise's hand pulled back from another smack. "Bloody Mary then! Or—or—or The Candyman! If you're not careful, you'll—"

" _ **CINDERELLA!"**_

"— _FUCK."_

Hermione jumped at the harshness to the curse from Blaise but recognized the voice inflecting in their general direction. With a quick glance to the two of her boys nearby, she mentally confirmed that yes, dread _was_ the correct emotion for the moment. Turning in the direction of that unmistakable presence, Hermione's eyes were immediately drawn to more of Pansy's unconventional yet somehow brilliant fashion. At second glance, Hermione was unsure if she'd actually heard the woman's _voice_ first or her _clothes._

Skin tight black denim with sporadic holes and tears, a thigh length fitted grey knit top covered by a short, waist length black leather vest with _far_ too many zips, buttons, and buckles for any of them to be practical, a plethora of shiny black and crystal inlaid bangles, necklaces, and all topped off with rhinestone studded black suede platform pumps? On anyone else, it would've been a hot mess. On Pansy? Well, Hermione allowed herself a brief moment of envy over the confidence wafting from her pores and the way she sauntered in her style of haphazard comfort and flair.

"Pansy," Hermione greeted dumbly. "What are you doing here?"

Pansy laughed – a bit too loudly, _just_ this side of manic – and wedged herself between Hermione and Blaise, tossing an arm around both. "You're so cute. We're here for the Riff Off, of course!"

Blaise sniffed and plucked Pansy's arm from around his shoulder to let it drop at her side. "This schedule change is _her_ fault."

"Blaise, don't be rude!" Hermione snapped reflexively.

Pansy shrugged, hugging Hermione to her a bit with the move, completely ignoring the confused way at which Hermione was eying her newfound familiarity. "It's true though! I couldn't make it next weekend for the Riff Off so dear ol' Tommy agreed to switch it around for me."

" _Tom_ did?" Her tone was incredulous. "The same Tom that was tossing a shitfit outside just a bit ago?"

"No, no, dear," Pansy snorted, "Not your boy toy Tom, _barkeep_ Tommy."

Hermione sputtered. "He's not my boy toy!"

"Where _is_ Tom—boy toy Tom, I mean—anyway?" Marcus directed his question to Pansy.

Hermione's sputtering turned to the forever tall roommate of hers. "He's not my—"

"Last I saw him was with Abbie. They were signing in on the roster and all the usual." Pansy shrugged again, talking over Hermione's protests. As if something terrible suddenly struck her, Pansy straightened in a single moment, arm jerking off from Hermione's shoulders and one hand pressing to her chest in dismay. "Speaking of the roster! You didn't _join_ these buffoons, did you?"

" _Hey!"_

" _Oh, screw you, Pans."_

It was the boys' turn to sputter this time while Hermione's expression shifted into one of unamused skepticism. "Oh, are we done pretending I'm not standing right here, then?"

"Hermione! You can't! You just _can't_ have! I am willing to accept that you refused me—as plainly dumb a decision as that was—but you _can't_ have joined this shitshow!"

"Oy!" Hermione jabbed a finger roughly into Pansy's chest. "Crazy woman! Stop insulting me, my friends, and my boyf—" The word trying to force its way from her mouth wedged itself in her throat and Hermione made a rather unattractive face trying to recover from the near slip. "…toy's group…" _Shite._ Hermione cringed at her poor attempt to cover the stumble but it seemed Pansy was far too busy being dramatic to notice.

"Just TELL me you didn't do it! Anything! ANYTHING but these losers!"

" _ **HEY!"**_ Any bit of levity that'd been lingering in the air around them popped and deflated like a balloon in response to Tom Riddle's snarl. Rebellious Phrase's fearless leader tromped up to the four of them with a glass of water in each hand, gently passing one to Hermione before sending a glare firmly at the other woman. "Stop bothering her."

Pansy clucked her tongue. "It's a free country, Riddle. I can do what I want. Besides, I was just asking her a _question_. I wanted to kno—AH!" She shrieked in surprise when several fat water droplets found their way into her face.

Hermione jumped at the noise and looked over at Tom who'd dipped his fingers into his glass of water to flick the liquid at Pansy and hiss as though he were chasing away a cat.

"Shoo! Go back to yor corner, witch!"

Swiping the moisture from her face, Pansy glared. "I was just— _pfft_ — _STOP IT!"_

"BUGGER OFF!"

"I'm not a—" Pansy started with a snarl but stopped mid-sentence when Tom raised his water hand higher in a threat. " _UGH._ Fuck you, Riddle!" And she stomped off.

"Is _that_ how you get rid of her?" Blaise asked.

"Get rid of who?" A refreshment toting Regulus and Abraxas rejoined their friends, both with questioning looks upon their faces.

"Pansy," said Marcus. He then gestured over towards the far corner where she was now waving and flailing among a small group of people, occasionally pausing to point an accusatory finger in their—mostly Tom's—direction.

Abraxas blanched.

Regulus started giggling. "Mate, you might want to see to that quickly if you ever want to have it off with Parkinson again."

And _oh_ how Abraxas did scramble.

Hermione snorted a laugh at the whole terrible little scene and shook her head, then took a sip from her own water. "You lot are awful. Do I even want to know what horrid things Pansy has done to you all to get so solidly under your collective skin?"

"She's not all that horrible." Several heads turned to Regulus accusingly and he just shrugged and sipped his water. "She's _not._ "

"…no," Marcus said in agreement but added, "She's just really stubborn and persistent…and also annoying as shit."

" _LANGUAGE,_ Marcus."

The group, sans Blaise, rolled their eyes but Tom spoke up before the idle chatter could continue much longer. "Alright. Tommy asked us to help sound check the stage since we're the regulars so grab Abraxas and go on." He nodded in the general direction of the stage steps. "I'll be out in a minute."

With a murmur of fussing, the boys nodded and headed on. Tom lingered, waiting until they'd cleared off before he turned back to Hermione and reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear. She arched a brow at him but smirked in a way that tugged the smallest grin into place, lightening his expression substantially.

"Sorry," Tom said after a while.

Hermione's other eyebrow rose to join the first. "'bout what?"

He nodded again towards the stage then made a half-hearted wave in the direction that Pansy had hunkered down in. "All that…and this. I wasn't expecting this bloody Riff Off shite today. It'll be a bit more demanding of my time than I'd prefer."

Her mouth popped open in surprise but quickly turned back to a sly, almost cheeky, smirk. "Don't sweat it, Rickle. It's far less chaotic than the backstage scenes I'm used to and anyway, last I checked, I was a big enough girl to sit among your 'Aca-Bitches' and swoon all by my lonesome."

Tom groaned. "Don't encourage her—even if she can't hear you. Using her words just gives her power."

Hermione snorted at the petulant slouch he'd adopted and the goofy yet deliciously tidy picture he still made with his bowtie and suspenders. She let her eyes run over the neatly pressed button down he sported and her smirk spread as she recalled all those utterly distasteful planes and valleys of his chest and abdomen that were hiding beneath it. She may or may not have licked her lips at the thought. "You better head out, eh?"

Tom followed the path of her eyes, allowing himself a self-satisfied smirk of his own. He gingerly took up Hermione's bandaged hand in his free one and placed the softest kiss to her knuckles, locking eyes with her over them. "Stay out of trouble?" he said, reluctantly releasing her hand.

She scoffed and gave him her best, most dramatic shrug. "Since when do I get into trouble in pubs?" It tricked a laugh from him and Hermione confirmed that she rather liked it when he smiled like that.

. . . . .

Hermione was sitting quietly backstage, nursing her water while her feet swung idly over the edge of a makeup chair she'd taken over. The hustle and bustle had continued for a bit after Tom left her to her devices and had died down once more as the countdown to curtain edged closer. He was still gone, fussing around with Tommy the barkeep to fix some issues on stage before everyone got out there and did whatever it was they were supposed to do. And so she sat, heels tapping rhythmically against the footrest of the chair as she sipped at her drink and very sternly blotched out any feelings of warmth that pooled in her limbs at the familiar feeling of "Showtime."

"Hermione?"

She loosed a startled peep at the accented voice, turning to see a somewhat sheepish looking Theodore Nott…in skin tight leather pants that laced up the sides, big clunky black leather boots, a pair of studded leather cuffs on his wrists, and a short-sleeved fishnet shirt that looked as though it'd had several small pieces of the material spliced and stitched together all across its front and shoulders and sides. He looked like some sort of funky Frankensteined goth. "Uh…Theo?"

Theo caught the look she was giving him, glanced down at his outfit then back up with a shrug. "Pansy's idea." He nodded at a long folding table set up next to her and asked, "May I sit?"

Hermione hesitated, thinking back to their odd interaction earlier at the coffeehouse and nibbled at her bottom lip. All the while she eyed him and his sullen posture before finally sighing. "Yeah…yeah, sure, why not?" She expected a great deal more of a comical walk in those impossible boots he wore but he was almost eerily light on his feet, barely making a squeak beyond the inherent creak of the leather. Hermione watched him settle onto the edge of the table, his long legs plus the platforms bent his knees above table level and made her blink back to her own dangling feet in a spot of jealousy. The silence that fell between them was weird and awkward and kind of ookie.

Theo sucked and chewed at the inside of one of his cheeks, staring at his clasped hands where they drooped between his legs. He stole a few looks at Hermione from the corner of his eye, watching her run her fingers around the rim of her empty glass several times then cleared his throat. "Ah…sorry for earlier."

"Huh? Oh…um…yeah, no, that's fine. Sorry for…well, for trying to punch you in the face."

Theo snorted, shrugging again. "It wasn't unwarranted. I did not mean to dredge up anything unpleasant."

Hermione nodded and felt the quiet creep back in even amid the low din of the surrounding stage noise and the various groups of, what she assumed were, acapella people – _aca-people?_ – mulling around, warming up and waiting to go out. She'd started making faces apparently, if seeing her lips pursed and jutting out beneath her nose was any indication, and she rolled her eyes. _Ugh,_ _this was dumb._ "SO," she said suddenly, loud enough to startle Theo this time, "was that what you wanted to come over for or did Pansy put you up to something _again_?"

He grinned. "I assure you, I _DID_ wish to apologize." He paused, watching Hermione's attention turn to him and a fine eyebrow climb up and up and up on her forehead, then he admitted, "But also she wanted me to try to convince you to join our group 'just for the evening,' she'd said. She wants you to 'have a taste.'" He mimed an unsettling action of waggling his tongue and licking his lips afterwards, pulling a laugh from her. "And she had done that, as well."

"Oh, good. Because that's not weird at _all._ Good thing you kept that bit in, I'd almost refused you." Hermione was still chuckling when she asked, "What IS the big deal about this stuff anyway? Especially the 'Riff Off'? Is this like some sort of…battle of the bands or something?"

Theo seemed to weigh the comparison in his mind, head bobbing lightly in approval. "Something like that, yes. It is decent practice for us if nothing else. Keeps us thinking, keeps us on our feet with new and old songs and arrangements. Different things to use in our shows we pick up from others." He motioned to the area, the hardware of his cuffs clinking. "Tommy has one at this pub every couple of months or so, even in the off seasons."

"Off…seasons? There are _seasons_ to this— _thing?"_

He laughed. "Well, of course! It's a bit like a sport then, is it not? People training year round, practicing, there are big competitions—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. _Competitions?_ "

The incredulity of her question made Theo's laughter come to an abrupt halt and a look of blatant surprise taking up in its wake. "You didn't know? How can you never have heard of it before? How can you have been a step away from _BROADWAY_ and be baffled that there are acapella singing competitions?!" He didn't notice Hermione's flinch at his sudden and serious tone.

Hermione's shoulders hunched up around her ears, her grip tighter on her water glass in that moment. Her eyes darted to the side and she looked as if she were contemplating hard on what all she wanted to say.

Theo caught her reaction this time and leaned back away from where he'd suddenly crowded her. His first apology came in hastily spoken German which got him a confused blink to which he remedied with an added, "Ah—sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—"

"It's fine," she replied quickly. "I'd just…I'd never really gotten into it, is all…"

"Never—" He was utterly dumbfounded forgetting to moderate his tone and body language. "Forgive me for bringing it up again, but I have SEEN your shows. At least the ones you were in the last couple of years at Hogwarts. You were spectacular! With how passionately you sang and danced and did EVERYTHING, I just don't understand how you were not 'into it!'"

Hermione blushed and hunkered down in on herself again before Theo realized that he'd gotten overexcited once more. Silence swept back between them, Hermione resuming her awkward fiddling with her glass with Theo trying not to stare at her from the corner of his eye yet being torn about leaving her be.

Unwilling to leave her again on poor terms, a thumb twiddling Theo broke through the moment in a last ditch effort. "…she will be very mad if I do not come back with you in tow."

Hermione straightened at the abrupt topic change, looked over at Theo, then huffed out a laugh. The tension bled out of the air between them and a more comfortable feeling settled in its place as she shook her head. "Guess she's bound to be really mad then."

Theodore seemed happy that she even replied then and offered her a lopsided smirk of truce. "I suppose so."

"So…tell me about this _acapella_ thing," Hermione hedged carefully, warily. "I mean, I know what it is, obviously, but I had no idea there was this whole...underground piece of it. How does this Riff Off bit of it _work_?"

He mulled over her question, sucking in one of his cheeks again as he thought about the best way to explain it. "Right, well, it is kind of like a battle of the bands, like you said, but also improvisation." Theo eyed her expression, judging the level of skepticism in it to be still open to explanation, so he kept on. "There is a number of competitors in any one Riff Off, a handful or so maybe, and then there're rounds. Each round has a subject or genre—could be anything, depending on who is running it. One of the groups starts it off, singing something that fits the topic, and another has to chime in within so many lines to take over with their own song or they forfeit the round to the other group. If someone stumbles over their words or mucks up by singing something off topic—" He dragged a thumb across his throat to illustrate. "—eliminated. It just goes and goes until someone is eliminated then, _boom_ , onto the next round."

"That sounds very…" Hermione's tongue fished around in her mouth to find the right word. "Silly."

Theo slapped his knee and laughed. "It is actually quite fun!" He gestured towards the pub in general. "Tommy's Riff Offs are quite popular because he's already got Riddle and the rest here fairly regularly so the crowd is used to this sort of thing." He paused, looked at Hermione sideways and then leaned in slyly. "They are also pretty popular with _us_ because he is one of the only ones that does any kind of significant prize."

Hermione didn't look over but her brows perked up and she became very interested in the rim of her glass. "What? Like…a shiny microphone or something?"

Without missing a beat, Theo said, "More like a substantial money pot for first prize."

" _O-oh?"_

"Yes," he said casually, watching Hermione fidget and very nearly able to hear the gears in her head churning out all sorts of ideas. "He has had some very insane ones this past year, matter of fact. It is usually a five-hundred-dollar base prize, though…plus, you know, whatever people toss in the fishbowl by the stage."

"Five _hundred?"_

Theodore nodded, reclining back from his lean. "Oh, yes. Once already this year, I believe it got as high as a thousand dollars in cash for first prize. The further the crowd is into their cups…" He shrugged. "…the looser they are with their cash."

Hermione swallowed, thinking about what she could do with just five hundred dollars—what she could do with even a _portion_ of five hundred dollars—how far she could make that stretch and not have to run herself positively ragged at the coffeehouse nearly every day…for a little while at least. It was amazing exactly how much one learned how to stretch their money once they became homeless.

Theo allowed the silence to stretch between them once again, though this time he allowed himself to wear a pleasant smirk as Hermione raked through her thoughts.

Finally, Hermione said, "Theodore…"

"Mmm?"

"Take me to your leader. I've a proposition to make."

His smirk spread into a full on toothy smile. _Happy Pansy, happy life._


	33. Chapter 33 (The Riff Off)

**A/N:** I am so very sorry for the crack fic-ery within... but also thank you to my alpha readers: Bright, Colubrina, and Shaya and big thanks to my Brit Picker Tequilamockingbirdwrites.

 **Aca-Playlist:** Closer by Nine Inch Nails

Lady Marmalade by Patti Labelle

Animals by Maroon 5

Do Ya Think I'm Sexy? by Rod Stewart

Problem by Natalia Kills

Hot Stuff by Donna Summer

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 33**

 **The Riff Off**

"Thanks a lot for your help, Tom." The scruffy, grizzled looking bartender clasped arms with Tom, flashing an appreciative grin that was missing a select few teeth.

Tom nodded, patted the man on the back and made his way down the steps into the backstage area with him. "Anytime, Tommy." He cast a quick glance around the room, his lips twitching down in a frown. "Tommy, you see Hermione anywhere?"

"Who?"

"Ah, girl, this high, hair about this big, she came in with us today."

A rakish grin spread across Tommy's face. "Ahh, finally took one home did ya?"

Tom stopped his scanning of the back room to shoot the bartender an unamused look. "It's not like that."

"Sure, sure. Whatever ya say, Tom, whatever ya say." Tommy chuckled and shook his head but did a quick check around the room himself. Pointing to a corner at the far end of the room he said, "What about over there? With Parkinson's pair?"

" _Parkinson?_ No. No that wouldn't be—" Tom's jaw dropped midsentence when Pansy's extra tall messenger boy stepped away from whoever he'd been talking— _laughing_ —with and Hermione's bushy head came into view.

"Buggering hell." Abraxas' swear came as he appeared at Tom's side, fresh from finishing his tasks on stage with Blaise and the others following after. "Mate, I'm sure there's an explanation and—Tom? Oh, fuck it."

. . . . .

Hermione was sharing a self-conscious chuckle with her new temporary teammates when the proverbial shit hit the fan. Her eyes were skittishly shifting between an overexcited Pansy and the whimsical blond girl she'd come to know as "Luna" when a swift moving, bow tie wearing, suspender toting, scowling Tom Riddle and company moved into her line of sight.

Pansy's excited babbling stopped at the strange look her newest recruit was sending somewhere behind her and when she turned, she couldn't possibly have been more delighted if she'd tried. "Oh! Riddle! Look who I found back here, free from your impossibly overbearing and water flicking presence."

"What've you done?" Tom's gruff rumble was directed at Pansy but his stare did shift heavily onto Hermione's shoulders after the other girl began what could only be described as a maniacal cackling. "Hermione…" The tight handle on his language was dissolving in the mere proximity of the cackling harpy. "…I'd like you to tell me…you didn't just do wot I _fink_ yer did..."

Hermione shot a glance over at Theo who immediately reddened and coughed into his hand. She pursed her lips and huffed at him but fidgeted a bit under Tom's intense gaze. "It's really not that big of a deal—"

"Not that big a deal?!" Pansy scoffed, slinging an arm around Hermione's shoulders that she quickly ducked away from. Unfazed by the dismissal, Pansy stood proudly with her hands on her hips instead. "It's an epic aca-deal! Your dear girlfriend—"

" _We're not together,"_ Tom and Hermione both interjected.

Pansy waved the pair of them off with a dismissive gesture. "—has joined the esteemed ranks of the BASSic Pitches, Tom! Now, with the help of your dear not-girlfriend, we will finally _own_ your asses, once and for all!" A victorious look settled onto her features with vindictive glee.

"This isn't at _all_ what it seems like," Hermione started, only to be met with a disapproving series of clucks of the tongue.

" _Et tu_ , Hermione?" Blaise folded his arms, speaking from his friend's side.

Hermione instantly felt worse at the sight of his look of betrayal. Tom was somehow remaining stony faced albeit just barely, though every few seconds Hermione could see his jaw muscles twitching as he ground his teeth. His stare was a most clear shade of 'livid' with a tinge of something akin to hurt and she was sure her stomach hadn't flipped and flopped so hard since her very first live performance at the theatre.

"I were sure I said ter stay OUT of trouble."

"Tom, don't be mad—"

And just like that, his control finally snapped. "Clearly, if yor 'avin' ter lead wiv that, buggers are lookin' a bit grim, ain't they?!"

His sudden accusatory snarl caught her by surprise and Hermione jumped at the sudden outburst. "Honestly, Tom, it's just for tonight! Theo was telling me about the prize pot and—"

" _ **THEO**_ were, was 'e?"

"NO! Nononono! Fucking tits, will you calm down?!" Hermione managed to latch onto one of his arms as he tried to move past her towards Theo who had, in turn, stepped behind Pansy in shock at this entirely different persona.

"I'll wreck 'is tart face—"

"Tom, Tom, stop it!"

"—buggerin' sod! Lemme go!"

"No!" she shouted again and yanked him back with both hands tugging at him now. "Calm your shite, Rickle! I just agreed to sing with them tonight for the extra cash. It's a one-time thing so get your knickers out of a wad!"

Tom let out an exasperated breath and flung her grip from him fussily. He gave her his meanest glower, stretching to his full height above her and glaring straight down into her eyes. "Wotcher need _EXTRA_ for? I already said I weren't fixin' ter collect!"

Hermione had a second where her heart sank further at his expression and she felt an aching bit of hollowness inside her chest at his aggressiveposturing. Then she blinked, shook herself from that particular daze, and her hand came out to smack him hard on the cheek with a resounding _SLAP._ It wasn't hard enough to turn his head or do any _real_ harm, only just enough sothat he blinked and stared at her in open amazement at the nerve of such a small waif of a thing.

She then proceeded to jab an angry finger into Tom's collar bone, making him wobble just a bit and leveled a measured scowl up the whole head of height he had looming over her. "Don't you _DARE_ take that tone of Cockney with _ME_ , ya twat! I'll box your bloody ears!" With another lightning fast whip of her arm, she snagged up one of his suspenders and hauled him with her to a far corner of the backstage area.

Tom was so stunned by the move that he nearly lost his footing during those first few steps and barely righted himself by the time she'd corralled him precisely where she'd wanted. His group looked on in astonishment while Pansy and hers looked more than a little baffled by this new development.

"Does…this happen often between them?" Theo asked, obviously remembering the simmering glare from Tom at the coffeehouse before he'd run off earlier that day.

Blaise just stared openly at his friend of many, many years as he flailed belligerently at the small, poofy haired woman. She snarled and snapped right back at him, popping him on the cheek again, and once more for good measure before waggling a finger until Tom finally settled down and proceeded to…

Blaise gasped, one hand coming to his mouth, the other to his chest in shock. "Sweet baby Jesus."

Tom Riddle, the same big bad brute who hailed from the slums of Wool's Orphanage and was adopted into the questionable money of the late, great Riddle family of Kensington, who then morphed into the smooth, swoon-worthy "bad boy" of the local Los Angeles acapella scene…was _sulking_ and toeing the ground. What's more was that he was doing it all before Blaise's very own petite little Hoodlum as she lowered her voice to a more private tone.

Even from that distance, Blaise was able to make out the pouting jut of his lower jaw and the defeated slouch to his shoulders clear as the light of day.

Abraxas, too, had taken to gawking. The couple had moved on to a much less animated, much more amicable conversation at this point if their body language was anything to go by. "Holy shite, mates…"

"Has anyone ever managed… _that_ before?" Regulus pointed towards their brooding leader.

"Fuck no." Blaise watched in amazement as Hermione rapped her knuckles lightly against Tom's chest more fondly now. The man's shoulders rose and fell in a dramatic exhalation of breath before his head bobbed in a sullen nod and she rose to plant a soft peck to his cheek. They lingered close, still murmuring to one another, Tom's fingers tugging halfheartedly at a coil of curls hanging over her shoulder as she cuffed him encouragingly under the chin. "Not as long as I've walked this great green earth."

Neither group made any motions to hide their staring, a silence having fallen between the rivals in the face of this terribly strange sight.

"Being in love must be nice," Luna said pleasantly with a smile, startling them all out of their daze.

Theo was quick to gawk and ask incredulously, " _That's_ love?"

Luna reached up to pet him on the head, making to head out onto stage for introductions. In passing she said, "One day, Theo, you'll understand."

. . . . .

As Hermione stood on the Hog's Head stage, the first stage she'd been on in a handful of years, facing an already raucous and rowdy audience, she reflected on what exactly had made her decide that _any_ part of this arrangement had been a good idea. While Tommy was explaining the event and the rules – apparently "no physical contact with the rival teams" was a thing – she scanned the crowd, unable to help thinking that they were certainly a far cry from the ones she'd performed in front of before. Luna must have mistaken her surveying as nervousness because the girl slipped a tiny hand into one of Hermione's and gave her a sweet, warm smile.

"I pretend that I'm in my underwear," Luna whispered into her ear.

Hermione's brow furrowed and she looked over to the girl, eying her skin tight metallic mermaid scale leggings and the barely there snug tank top thinking that if Pansy had her way, underwear would be the reality and not a coping mechanism at all. "I'm pretty sure you're supposed to imagine _them_ in their underwear…"

"Oh, I do." Luna gave Hermione's hand a squeeze. "You'll do fine."

"Uh…" Hermione blinked. "Right…" She turned her gaze back across the stage, catching the concerned look on Tom's face. Seeing it made her blush but she shook her head and mouthed something that made his stance visibly ease. "Um, thanks, Luna. This is…well, definitely much different than anything I've done before. Most anything I've done has always been rehearsed out the arse not any of this—" She made a subtle motion to the three groups standing around them. "—off the cuff bollocks."

"Mmm, it does take some getting used to but it's not hard at all. Of course I suppose it _could_ pose some difficulty for you seeing as you're entirely unfamiliar with us and how we work together and are very much the odd man out, but you seem resilient enough and bright enough to catch on quickly. At worst, you're likely to only fuck up once before you understand it all."

"Your logic burdened and _barely_ positive praise is an incredible balm for my nerves, Luna, thank you."

"You're welcome!"

Hermione examined her with a bit of a scowl before just shaking her head and turning her focus on the two groups she hadn't had a chance to meet with that were apparently competing for the pot as well. "Can you tell me about them?"

Luna nodded at the quintet nearest to them who were doing their best to present a line of stern faced singers as if to psyche out the other groups. They were a mixture of young female and male singers that looked to be late high school age who were all outfitted in crisp sets of matching uniform pants or skirts, and grey sweater vests trimmed in navy and bronze shades with matching accessories. "They're from a nearby private school and call themselves 'Not Your Forte.'"Luna went person by person, pointing out each singer in her soft-spoken voice. "Their lead is Cho Chang, a mezzo like you. That is her alto, Penelope Clearwater, and their tenor and falsettist Michael Corner. In the back, you can hardly see them but on the left is their bass, Roger Davies and on the right, Anthony Goldstein. He does what I do."

Hermione, as though a lightbulb just clicked on above her head, turned a bit sheepishly back to Luna. "What _is_ it that you do exactly?" Luna's head tilted curiously at her question and she felt the immediate need to justify it. "Ah, I mean, obviously you sing, right? Soprano to Pansy's—"

Before the rest of that sentence found its way out, Luna had already launched into an impressive series of beatboxed sounds. Her impromptu performance spanned from a bluesy swing beat to a blood pumping, shoulder bouncing, head bobbing sound that almost made Hermione suspect that the girl was _actually_ a synthesizer robot that had been transported directly to them from the 80s to save them all from a dreary life devoid of rhythm. A small round of applause erupted from a portion of the crowd close enough to hear.

Pansy snorted a laugh and pandered to the audience. _"Yeah, that's ours! We got it tonight!"_

"Wow. That's…I mean, _wow._ That's actually wonderful."

Luna flashed Hermione a wide infectious smile and merrily let their clasped hands swing lightly between them, carrying on as though she'd never veered off topic. "The others, that quartet there are all professors at one of the neighboring colleges. They call themselves the 'Oh-Wee-Oh's.' Left to right there are Professors Lupin, Tonks, Shacklebolt, and Black." She leaned in to conspiratorially whisper, "Professor Black is Regulus' older brother. Marcus tells me that they don't 'get on' well."

Hermione drew back to give her a funny look. " _Marcus_ tells you that?"

"Oh, yes. We have sex on occasion. His penis is pleasantly proportionate to the rest of him and he's also quite good at cunnilingus. I suspect this is, in part, due to him being born without a lingual frenulum, though."

The color in Hermione's cheeks fled to allow a sallow shade to settle in its place. "Ah. Brilliant. Thanks for that."

"Mm-hmm. If you weren't in love with Tom Riddle I would recommend him to you, actually. He's very attentive."

Hermione gaped at that, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Wha-I am _NOT_ —" Her protest was drowned out by Tommy's voice booming through the speakers in the pub as he turned with a sweeping gesture towards the four participating groups.

"— **AND WITHOUT FURTHER ADO, LET THE RIFF OFF…BEGIN!"**

. . . . .

There was a wheel apparently.

There was a _**wheel**_ and it reminded Hermione very much of the one that the contestants used to spin on that _Wheel of Fortune_ show her mum loved so much. Although, there was a very different sort of subject matter in front of her than she'd ever seen on _that_ wheel. Some of the categories that she was able to glimpse before this one was set to spinning were _Party Rock Anthems, Ugly Lead Singers, Hair Bands, and…Overplayed Black Eyed Peas._

Wonders never ceased.

Hermione shot her fresh new teammates a sidelong look just as the wheel came to a stop and Tommy turned to the competitors with a wide grin and shouted, **"Songs About Sex!"**

Before she had much chance to process anything, she felt a wave of motion spread throughout the surrounding groups. A smattering of sounds from each team's vocal percussionist revved up, but the single voice that sounded out over the rest came from the tall, lean blur of fishnets and leather moving forward from her side. Hermione watched wide-eyed as Theo's heavy boots thudded against the stage and he was suddenly in front of Tom's group – more specifically, he was looming in front of _Blaise._

" _ **I want to fuck you like an animal."**_

The last words that she'd ever expected to hear from this quiet and reserved man dripped from Theo's lips like a thick, creamy German honey.

Luna's flawless beatboxing stood out over the suddenly quieted crowd and the haunting addition of Pansy's melodious harmony supported the thumping, pumping, beats.

Theo was close, _so_ very close to her friend. Although, even from her position, she could see that he was not, in fact, breaking the "no touching" rule. Damn if he hadn't been coming perilously close to doing so, though. She saw how Blaise had stiffened, how something guarded tried to weave into the set of his shoulders and how the rest of the boys drew near him defensively at this sudden display.

And then Theo's eyes scanned over Blaise's face and moved to hold the other man's gaze.

Although she couldn't tell exactly _what_ had happened in those few heartbeats from where she stood, Hermione watched the way Blaise's shoulders unwound and the slight tilt of his head allowed her teammate ever closer to rumble into his ear.

" _ **I want to feel you from the inside."**_

If anyone in the room missed the shudder that ran through Blaise in that moment, they were likely blind.

" _ **I want to FUCK you like an animal."**_

The inarticulate whimper that squirmed free from her housemate's throat reminded her a bit of a small cockapoo one of her neighbors had growing up. All of a sudden, she felt as though she and everyone else in the room were intruding on a _terribly_ intimate moment.

" _ **My whole existence is flawed,"**_ Theo purred. _ **"You…get me closer to god…"**_

Blaise's lids fluttered before his eyes rolled a bit in his head.

Hermione thought she saw the tiniest trickle of saliva beading at the corner of his mouth.

She blinked.

 _What the_ _ **bloody**_ _hell was happening?_

She watched in amazement as Blaise breathed in deeply and barely pulled back to look Theo in the eyes again. A string of gravely sounding French slipped past his lips in his unique bass tone.

" _Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?"_

Theo's whole body straightened as he jolted suddenly upright with a surprised exhale of, "Qu'est-ce que?"

As if coming back to himself, the sly smile that Hermione was much more used to seeing in place split Blaise's expression. _"Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?"_

Theo nearly jumped when a pair of hands appeared at Blaise's waist from behind.

 _. ~ ._

 _Hey—_

' _~ '_

And then another set on his shoulders.

 _. ~ ._

 _Hey—_

' _~ '_

And another to cup his chest.

 _. ~ ._

 _Hey!_

' _~ '_

The man's bass beat reached her ears as though he'd never had that moment of weakness. He was guided back to the back line of his group by the disembodied hands belonging to his mates, their fingers sliding tauntingly over his stomach, arms, and chest before he completely disappeared from her and Theo's immediate view.

Tom's tenor drew her attention to one side. His silky voice slid through the air and sent her own little private wave of goosebumps over her skin.

Hermione realized that being on stage then was a different experience entirely from her brief moment of song with Tom back at the house. It was even unlike when she'd first watched the boys perform to the crowd. It was, of course, also _quite_ different from the first time she'd spotted the lot of them all barely dressed with all their smooth bumps and ridges exposed.

" _ **Touching her skin feelin' silky smooth…"**_

Tom very deliberately caught her stare.

" _ **The colour of café au lait!"**_

"Don't make eye contact, Hermione!"Pansy's voice was trying to tug her back from his terribly intense gaze. "That's how they get you! Dammit—Theo get her back here!"

" _ **Made the savage beast inside ROAR until it cried—"**_

 _What bollocks was she on about?_ Hermione thought. She wasn't some simpering child or girl that fell for the smooth lines of a pretty face just because it was a handsome vessel for this painfully beautiful voice.

" _ **More!"**_

Tom's smirk could easily be heard in the aforementioned voice; it tickled along her spine.

" _ **More!"**_

It made the inner muscles of her thighs twitch a little.

It made other muscles clench and…

" _ **MORE!"**_

… _oh._

Hermione grimaced and recalled the old performing folklore of "stage witchcraft" that had made its circles through her old performing class and company. Some had even said that she, herself, had held this sort of presence on stage.

Something hypnotic.

Something sexy.

Something _utterly_ irresistible to any but those with the strongest of wills.

This was the first time she'd experienced such a thing from another cast member, however. Or, she supposed in this case, an enemy.

Hermione blinked.

 _Well shite._

Tom's voice was wonderful and terrible in the scope of her winning this dumb Riff Off malarkey. She also very quickly found that the whole "improv of pop music" wasn't really her _thing_. Of course, it likely didn't help that her Town Car radio had been broken since she'd "inherited" it. (An overheated _Cruisin' Classics_ cassette had been jammed into the tape deck and would occasionally decide to play its B side with a garbled voice that sounded something like the Satanic version of The Doobie Brothers telling her _What a Fool Believes_ ; access to new or current hits via the local station was intermittent at best.)

As she wracked her brain to come up with something appropriate from her sizable repertoire of 80s pop hits, a new body appeared in her line of vision to join the fray. Hermione caught Tom's suave smirk dissipating into something much less friendly right before this new, but no less pretty, face appeared.

 _It must be something in the water, all these pretty boys._

"Hello," whispered the lightly rumpled and somewhat rugged looking sandy haired man. He let his eyes sweep over the length of her form and gave her a kind look. "You're new. Welcome."

Her eyebrows ticked up as she realized this wasn't another pretty _boy_ , but the older man that Luna had pointed out as _Professor_ Lupin. His kind look morphed into a wolfish grin that brought mischief and youth back into his face and Hermione decided that, if nothing else, his name was very apt. She barely noticed the series of eerie and seductive notes swelling from the rest of his team.

 _. ~ ._

 _So what you trying to do to me?_

 _It's like we can't stop, we're enemies—_

' _~ '_

A voice in her ear made her jump and whirl around to find herself face to face with a set of dark eyes set in a familiar looking face. This man's hair was a bit longer and there were a scant few more lines around his eyes but this close, there was no mistaking that this man was the brother of Tom's groupmate, Regulus. And, Hermione noted internally, where that Lupin character had at least appeared soft at first, _this_ individual was rakish from the start.

 _. ~ ._

 _But we get along when I'm inside yo—u, eh!_

 _You're like a drug that's killing me!_

' _~ '_

The addition of the Professor's – of Lupin's – singing was jarring. She wasn't sure what kind of sound she expected from him, but it most certainly wasn't _this_ velvety caress. There was a faint sort of amusement she could hear in each syllable sung and Hermione turned back in his direction to see him closer now, grinning down at her.

 _. ~ ._

 _I cut you out entirely!_

 _But I get so high when I'm inside yo—u!_

' _~ '_

Sirius' words were puffing down her spine again, though she resisted the urge to pivot back to look at him. If she were being truthful, she found the rumpled professor more intriguing, anyway. Although…with the one at her front, and the other at her back, it made her feel like some sort of morsel.

 _. ~ ._

 _Yeah you can start over, you can run free.  
You can find other fish in the sea!  
You can pretend it's meant to be, but you can't stay away from me!_

' _~ '_

Or quite possibly the pub's new bicycle that everyone was trying to have a go on.

. ~ .

 _I can still hear you making that sound, taking me down, rolling on the ground.  
You can pretend that it was me, but no, oh—_

' _~ '_

Hermione was distracted from the man's admittedly good attempt at entrancing her by the vague sounds of a scuffle coming from the direction of the boys. She was able to glimpse Tom's snarling visage before it disappeared behind a dogpile of his own men.

"Tom!" Hermione squeaked in surprise, making the other teams look as well. "What the—"

" _ **GER'OFF ME!"**_

" _You are NOT going to sacrifice this Riff Off because your Willy demands revenge!"_

With a sharp jerk to one side, Hermione stumbled and found herself drawn back into her own group with the other BASSic Pitches. Once she recovered her footing, she met the amused face of Pansy Parkinson who was looking very much as though she wanted to just sit back and enjoy the sight of a red faced Tom Riddle.

"The _**eyes**_ _,_ Mione!" Pansy said, pointing two fingers to her own and then shifting them to point at Hermione's. "Don't look at them, okay?"

"Fairly certain I haven't given you permission to call me that."

Unfazed or ignoring her, Pansy made to turn to the competition, calling back over her shoulder, "Your boyfriend can thank me for this later!"

"We're not togeth— _oh sod it._ "

Pansy bust into the scene, center stage, one leg propped forward in a power stance. She flung both her arms up, fingers folded down to her palms so just her thumbs, pointers, and pinkies were sticking out in a most universal sign that she would like to commence to "fucking rock" and she sang a challenge to the opposing teams.

" _ **IF you want my body AND you think I'm sexy, COME on, sugar, let me kno—w!"**_

A series of cheers and whoops came from the crowd and Pansy strutted to the edge of the stage, pivoting on the balls of her feet and shimmying in a very indecent sort of way.

" _ **IF you really need me, JUST reach out and touch me! COME on honey, tell me so—! Tell me so, baby!"**_

Luna moved in to try and support Pansy as she sang, leaving Theo to check on their newest team member.

"Alright, Hermione?" He asked hurriedly, eyes shifting between the girls, the other teams, and her.

Hermione turned the most befuddled look onto him then. "Ah…yes? I mean—" She spared a glance to Pansy and shook her head. "—I think so? Somehow I was woefully unprepared for…um… _this._ "

 _. ~ ._

 _He's actin' shy, lookin' for an answer._

 _Come on honey, let's spend the night together!_

 _Now hold on a minute, before we go much further, give me a dime so I can phone my mother—_

' _~ '_

The pair of them watched Pansy doing a godawful Rod Stewart impression that had the crowd rolling while the other teams collected themselves and looked to be getting ready to rejoin the fray.

"Too intense?" Theo asked.

"Really bloody _**weird**_ ," she replied without missing a beat. "And, as _you_ know, I was in theatre." She had tried to keep the tone light enough, but there was just enough of an accusatory tinge to it that made him flinch and drop his eyes. He avoided looking at her again and instead focused on the emergence of the team she had affectionately mentally re-named "Jailbait." Their lead girl, Cho, was making her way towards a freshly recovered Tom in, what she supposed, was intended to be a sexy gait.

Hermione felt one of her eyebrows climbing higher and higher and higher when the girl extended an arm to point and purred in a beautiful, sultry voice that disrupted the whole swing of Pansy's musical tirade.

" _ **Sweat, drippin' down your chest. Thinkin' 'bout your tattooed knuckles on my thigh boy, boy, boy."**_

Hermione was hot. Very hot. Around the neck region.

" _ **Cold. Shower. You got no— power t'control how I make you my toy, toy, toy."**_

Hermione felt flames. There were flames. Flames on the side of her face…

And Cho was gyrating. U _ndulating_ …or her hips were, at any rate. _**"My hips rockin' as we keep lip lockin'. Got the neighbors screaming even louder, LOUDER."**_

"Theo…love," Hermione said with a deadly calm while watching this girl doing indecent things to the air in front her housemate. Her head tilted to one side. "What is she doing?"

" _ **Lick me down like you were rolling rizzle. I'm smoking, come and put me out."**_

Theo took a long look at the girl before replying. "Undulating."

"Yes, I very well can _see_ that!" She pointed to Cho and swept her arm to gesture at the entirety of the stage. "What _IS_ this? This was not at ALL what I was expecting."

He stared at her for a long moment before a light seemed to click on and his stance eased in understanding. "Ah." Theo nodded at the girl and her grimacing target. "She's trying to psych him out."

" _ **I'm your dream girl!"**_

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "S'not what I'd call that…"

" _ **This is real love!"**_

He snorted. "That's the whole point, Hermione. This is much less about singing as it is about distracting the enemy. Why do you think Pansy has us in this ridiculous get up? Get them off their guard and knock them out of the running."

" _ **But you know what they say about me—"**_

Hermione now peered at Cho and a rather dismayed looking Tom through slit eyes. "How do I knock them out again, Theo?"

 _. ~ ._

 _ **That girl is a problem—**_

' _~ '_

He turned back to her, surprised at the question. "Pardon?"

 _. ~ ._

 _ **Girl is a problem—**_

' _~ '_

"The _rules_ ," she stressed. "No touching and what else?"

 _. ~ ._

 _ **Girl is a problem—**_

' _~ '_

"Ah…if they don't pick up in song quickly enough they—"

 _. ~ ._

 _ **Problem—**_

' _~ '_

"That's the one. Thank you."

 _A goddamn problem._

. . . . .

Hermione wasn't exactly what one would consider an overly proud individual.

She cared little about what the general populace might have to say about her recent homeless status or her terrible penchant for the lifting of objects that were not nailed or anchored down in any way and the practical piece of her knew that she was smart and studious and driven. She would not have really held any of these qualities above her head or stamped them with a label of "pride," however, but as much as she had tried to avoid it, there _was_ one quality which she knew she excelled at and did – at least in private – take a sizable amount of pride in.

 _Performing._

Her parents had loved it and encouraged her to "follow the dream" despite the cutthroat competition that would have her driven out of the field. She'd given it a shot, she'd taken her hits, and she'd given up to find greener pastures and safer waters but it seemed, when it came down to it, it all came back to this.

As Hermione's sense left her, blinded by the terrible red filter creeping into her vision, and as slipped out from her safe spot behind Theo Nott to move forward into the mess of battling aca-groups, the words of a very wise Whoopi Goldberg echoed in her mind: _If you wake up in the morning, and you can't think anything but singing, then you should be a singer, girl._

Who was she, _really_ , to doubt such an informed individual?

. . . . .

One moment, there was a terrible commotion of dueling aca-bitches and then the next, everything seemed to go quiet and still.

The cacophony of noise silenced itself abruptly to make way for the budding, building, thumping, _thudding_ , _**pounding**_ sound of a heavy boot stomping out a beat that shook something deep and primal within the very bones of every man and woman in the room.

Pansy had been scowling at Cho when the voice of her dreams flooded the air.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Sittin' here eatin' my heart out waitin'  
Waitin' for some lover to call**_

' _**~ '**_

She turned her head to see Theo with the most ridiculous shit-eating grin she'd ever seen the man sport in her short months of knowing him, finding him to be the source of what she could only describe as a disco beat.

That voice, though, the voice did not belong to Theodore Nott. That voice… _oh,_ that voice.

She _**knew**_ that voice.

 _ **. ~ .  
Dialed about a thousand numbers lately  
Almost rang the phone off the wall**_

' _**~ '**_

" _Cinderella,_ " Pansy breathed as Hermione strut by with the most intense look she'd ever seen on the woman's face since she'd met her. The only break to her focus was the most acerbic glare sent to Cho Chang as she passed, stopping the girl mid-serenade and pinning her in place with just that brief second of a look.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Lookin' for some hot stuff, baby, this e—venin'!  
I need some hot stuff, baby, toni—ght!**_

' _**~ '**_

She'd barely even begun and her presence already demanded the attention of everything in the room.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **I want some hot stuff, baby, this e—venin'!  
Got'ta have some hot stuff!  
Got'ta have some lo—ve toni—ght!**_

' _**~ '**_

Electricity was practically rolling off of the woman's skin and hair – _had it always been so big and voluminous and_ _ **WONDERFUL?**_

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **I need hot stuff!  
I want some hot stuff!  
I need hot stu—ff!**_

' _**~ '**_

Simply put, the way Hermione moved sent chills over every inch of her body.

Pansy may also have peed a little; she did that sometimes when she was excited.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Lookin' for a lover who needs another, don't want another night on my own!  
Wanna share my love with a warm blooded lover, wanna bring a wild man back home!**_

' _**~ '**_

Luna and Theo had taken up background vocals and effects to Hermione's commanding performance, the woman of the hour having sauntered all the way from the rear of the stage to its front edge. In mere moments, the crowd had gone from a stock still shock of stunned silence to the excited growing din of drunken adults reliving their disco days.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Gotta have some hot love, baby, this e—venin'!  
I need some hot stuff baby toni—ght!  
I want some hot stuff baby this e—venin'**_

' _**~ '**_

If there had been any question to whether or not Hermione was the right one to complete their ensemble, it fled with extreme haste from the very plane of existence in which Pansy dwelled upon. In the back of her mind, she knew it was her job to join in and support her teammate, but all she could do was watch and gape – and maybe cry a bit – as Hermione worked the stage, pacing the length of it as though she'd owned the very building it resided in.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Gotta have some lovin'!  
Got'ta have love tonight!  
I need hot stu—ff!  
**_ _ **' ~ '**_

The crowd no longer sat in their seats, but hopped up onto their feet. They were swaying, shimmying, _thrusting_ with their pelvic regions to the pulse pounding, booty shaking, body moving words being belted from the lungs of this wee little thing.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Hot lo—ve!**_

' _**~ '**_

They weren't the only ones.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Lookin' for hot lo—ve!**_

' _**~ '**_

When Pansy looked to her right, the professors had succumbed to the Siren's song, too and had joined in with the audience who was now singing along. She would have been content to just peg it as their age difference, but a glance to her left showed the young bloods of _Not Your Forte_ grinning and grooving along with the rest of the pub.

" _TOM—fuck! Goddammit!"_

At the shout of a voice that could only belong to Blaise Zabini, Pansy's head snapped forward once more.

Her jaw dropped when she saw her most loathed enemy, Tom Riddle, asshole extreme, make way to one of the table tops near the stage and hoist his not-girlfriend ( _totally-his-girlfriend no matter what they said)_ by the waist onto one nearby so they could dance upon their horribly grainy and booze splashed surfaces together.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Stu—ff!**_

' _**~ '**_

And bless her soul, Hermione deliberately kept her hands off of him during the move.

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Hot! Hot! Hot!**_

' _**~ '**_

He'd disqualified himself.

The fucking bastard lost the Riff Off!

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Hot! Hot! Hot! Hot! Stu—ff!**_

' _**~ '**_

Another glance would show her that the whole stage was a giant clusterfuck of fools dancing with one another…all except for _her_ team who was very carefully minding their own space while providing the music.

They'd won by mass disqualification in the first round.

 _Holy fucking shit, they'd_ _ **WON.**_

 _ **. ~ .**_

 _ **Hot! Hot! Hot!**_

' _**~ '**_

 _Oh, good gods,_ Pansy thought with tears in her eyes and her bottom lip caught between her cheekily grinning teeth. _I have the next British Miss America in my acapella group! She's going to bring world aca-peace to us all!_

. . . . .

The car ride back to the house was quiet that evening.

Painfully, dreadfully quiet.

It wasn't a _long_ ride, per se, but…it was a hell of a lot longer with the thick curtain of silence hanging in the tight confines of steel.

Tom glanced to his right, set his eyes back on the road and, waiting until the awkwardness became too much to bear at one extra-long stoplight, he cleared his throat. "Look…Blaise—"

" _ **ZZZZTT!"**_ Blaise didn't shift his stare from its forward and locked position, only removed one hand from his folded arms to make a sharp, closing motion with his hand towards the man to his left.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Blaise, mate, _look_ —"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, did I _**fucking**_ stutter?"

A different sigh sounded from the man's right. "Blaise, come on, it was just—wait, your middle name is _'Marvolo?'_ "

 **"I'm sorry hoodlum,"** Blaise interrupted loudly. **"I can't hear you over the size of your trophy! Can you speak up, please?"**

Hermione blinked, unamused, from behind the spires of a cheap and gaudy trophy that looked to have originally belonged to a bowling team with a newer plaque stuck over the old one at the base that read _Riff Off Winnnor._ "You're _seriously_ going to be a bitch about this?"

" _LANGUAGE,"_ he hissed venomously.

There was a snort from the back seat and a series of chuckles that followed.

Hermione just shook her head again and went back to looking out the window, a slow grin spreading across her face.

* * *

 _ **P.S.:**_ ...so, so, so very sorry.


	34. Chapter 34

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 34**

Hermione was first in to the house, Tom following shortly after with the both of them ignoring the yammering coming from the man at their heels. He leaned in, whispering something into her ear and attempted to usher her quickly through the living room but made the terrible mistake of tossing his bag of take away pub food onto the coffee table as they passed.

Tom and Hermione – as well as Hermione's very, very large trophy – were making haste in the direction of the rehearsal room but Blaise was having absolutely _none_ of it. He stomped after them and snatched up the bag that reeked of beer battered chicken tenders and honey mustard to shake it violently in their general direction. "This is _not_ your personal dumping ground, Tom! You act like you own the place!"

Tom sighed, stopped mid-step with head tilted back to look towards the sky for patience, and turned back around. "This is my house, Blaise. I _DO._ "

Blaise huffed. "Well, we live here, too! And—HEY! Where do you think you're going?" He called after his housemate that had barely paused long enough to hear him start up again before turning about face and continuing on.

Muttering something unkind under his breath and urging Hermione to go on ahead, Tom paused once more and sent a dark look over his shoulder. " _ **WE**_ are going to The Chamber to have a chat. Leave off!"

"What? Oh, NO, I don't think you a—" When Blaise followed and found the door slammed in his face, locked, and the red light blinked on with a low buzz, he scoffed and walked back out to the living area. Dropping the leftovers back on the table, he threw his hands up in exasperation but then spun back around to shout down the hall. "Well, that chat better not involve _**YOUR GENITALS!**_ That is a communal space, Tom. _**COM-MUNE-NAL!**_ "

"Mate…seriously." Abraxas piped up from the other end of the living space. "Let it go. It's just a stupid pub trophy."

Blaise turned to Abraxas with an openly offended look, mouth open wide enough to catch flies. " _STU—_ " He choked on the word. _**"STUPID?**_ After all our hard work—"

Abraxas rolled his eyes. "Stop being so dramatic—"

Blaise made a very loud snorting noise that resonated all the way down through his throat and chest. It very nearly made the walls vibrate with the bass of it.

"No, I mean it." Abraxas folded his arms and looked at the other man expectantly. "When was the last time you've seen the bloke so happy?"

"Yeah, B," Regulus chimed in. "It's really been a bit."

Folding his own arms and huffing, Blaise stuck his nose into the air. "So, what? _**His**_ happiness is more important than ours?"

" _Blaise,_ " said Regulus earnestly, "the man is in _**love.**_ "

"Oh, what's _**LOVE**_ got to do with it?"

Abraxas snorted. "Simmer down, Tina." He was met with a very sour look at that. Abraxas shrugged. "Or don't. Whatever you please. But you should consider his point of view."

Blaise huffed again. "Regs, do _you_ think what we do is _**stupid**_?"

The question made Regulus pause for a very long moment and he offered Blaise an equally long, slow blink then took a quick glance at Abraxas. "I think my wife is calling is what _I_ think."

Shocked and appalled, Blaise gaped. In a last attempt for support, he said, "Marcus? What do you—" His brows knit together and he looked around in confusion. "Where's Marcus?"

Regulus let out a loud bark of laughter then. "He went home with that little blonde morsel."

Blaise's mouth flapped several times until, eventually, sound came out. "Wha—since _when_?"

"Since before we _left_ the pub," Abraxas said with a shake of his head. "Your knickers were so firmly lodged up your arse that you didn't even notice."

"Wait," Blaise said with a rising level incredulity. "So, you're telling me that I _didn't_ have to sit between my _ex_ -best friend and the Hoodlum that took my trophy?"

"Naw, mate."

"But you let me do it anyway." Blaise paused a moment to gesture to all of himself. "Despite my _clear_ irritation."

"Well, you seemed so set on it."

"Oh, _**FUCK**_ you both!"

" _Language,"_ Abraxas and Regulus said in a chorus of taunting sing-song voices.

Blaise reached over to snatch up a throw pillow and chucked it between them, the pair erupting into a round of loud, boisterous laughter at his expense. They both dodged the other throw pillows being hurled in their direction, snickering and snorting at their friend until Regulus, bent forward with his hands on his knees and tears at the corners of his eyes, said, "No, but really. She'll have my bollocks if I stay out too much later."

Abraxas giggled but nodded and started towards the door. "Right. Let's head out then." Pausing, he grinned back at Blaise. "Don't have too much fun while I'm gone, love!"

Blaise, mustering every bit of venom in his being, sent the nastiest, most annoyed, _**most**_ sour look at Abraxas' parting back but managed to tamp down on the words urging to spew forth. He stood there, looking so very bitter for a few minutes before he huffed and puffed some more to himself then went to retrieve all the pillows he'd thrown and tidy up. It was barely another five minutes before there was a knock at the front door.

Annoyed, Blaise fluffed the pillows _extra_ hard – adding a good punch or two for good measure – before going to get the door. "Forget your keys aga— _oh._ " His snarl of agitation turned into a surprised squeak when a lean, tall, fishnet and leather clad Theodore Nott was standing there in his doorway.

Theo had his hands shoved in his pockets, his arms pressed close to his sides, and had been examining the edges of his boots when the door opened. He peered up from beneath his lashes, shoulders lightly hunched up around his ears and flashed a somewhat nervous looking smile. "Evening."

Blaise blinked at the pretty, _**pretty**_ man standing in his doorway. He allowed his eyes to rove over the dark tousled hair, the familiar plugs in his lobes, and down, down, _down,_ over the snug, form fitting trappings of the costume he'd been wearing all night long. Theodore shifted his weight from one foot to the other and his stretches of lean muscle upon lean muscle that could only have been accomplished by some devious, dedicated lifelong honing shifted and writhed in the most tantalizing ways beneath his fishnet shirt. The movement also made two modestly sized silver steel bars, one set through each of the man's nipples, glint mischievously in the living room light.

 _Ah._

He'd almost forgotten about those.

Almost.

Blaise briefly questioned if he'd died at some point on the way back to the house and had gone to this wonderful heaven instead but decided that if that were the case, Hermione wouldn't have still had that damned trophy. He then realized that a few moments of heavy silence had settled into place and he'd not actually replied.

And Theodore was still standing there.

Shifting.

Huddling.

…looking a bit uncomfortable.

 _His nipples also seemed to be_ _ **quite**_ _cold._

Blaise finally jolted back to himself and screeched, "HELLO!" He startled them both with his own loudness and shook his head. "Can I—" He cleared his throat. "—can I help you?"

"Ah, yes." Theo recovered from the scare and took a brief glance over Blaise's shoulder before looking the man in the face again and offering back up that smile. "I was actually coming over to check on Hermione. And—well and _you_. _A—_ _ **all**_ of you, I mean," he stammered awkwardly. "Because, you know, you— _all of you_ —left so suddenly. I wanted to make sure everyone was—alright?"

The leather-clad Theo fidgeted openly, his question seeming as though it wasn't even meant to be a question initially by the way his voice wavered and then pitched shrilly and suddenly at the end.

Theo winced at the sound of his own voice.

At once, Blaise was no longer stunned by the dark-haired beauty in his doorway. His eyes narrowed and it was as though a switch had been flipped. "SHE sent you, didn't she?" The question was a hiss. "You're here for _**recon**_ , aren't you?"

"Wh...what? She?" A befuddled look came over Theo and he straightened. "Recon? Who—"

"PANSY!" Blaise exclaimed with an already half-mad flail of his arms, nearly swatting Theodore in the face with the move. "This was her entire idea, I'll bet!" He straightened then as well, yanking the door open wider so he could more easily prod a finger in the center of Theodore's chest.

Theo stumbled with the first poke, eyes growing wide and round. "What? No, I—"

 _Poke!_

"It was! It's all her! It's always that boujie little tart!"

 _Prod!_

" _Boujie?_ " His brows knit together in confusion at the unfamiliar word. "Sorry, I don't—" His protest was cut short by another hard jab to the center of his chest that had him teeter again slightly. Theo's expression shifted into one of a grimace, eyes fixating on the finger near his sternum.

" _ **She**_ implanted the Hoodlum!" Theodore opened his mouth to speak again but Blaise lifted his hand from the man's chest to so-very-firmly waggle his pointer finger at him in an aggravated, halting motion. "Don't you dare try to tell me it wasn't her, either! I _**knew**_ it was just too convenient. It's all just too convenient, isn't it? _**She's**_ the one responsible for that Siren. And to think, I was actually starting to like the bandit." Fully hyped up in his own hypothesis and post-loss "coping" now, Blaise's hands came to rest on his hips, his focus shifting to some space off to one of Theodore's sides where he was clearly just staring off as he replayed scenes in his mind. "That _**bitch**_!"

Theo blinked, certain he was completely lost by that point.

All Theo had wanted to do was attempt to have a long chat (perhaps overnight) with Blaise after their – what did Pansy call it again? " _Toning_ " on stage? – to see if any of those words they exchanged extended beyond the realm of competition.

Mainly, he was very invested in confirming Blaise Zabini's interest in men.

If he had known that things would be so… _odd_ at Riddle's house following the competition, he might have thought to give it a day or so before he showed up again. If he were honest with himself, though, based on his last experience there, he wasn't entirely sure if this house _**had**_ a "normal" state.

Blaise tossed his hands up in exasperation suddenly, pulling Theo from his private observations. The dark-skinned singer then made a terrible, disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, turning a critical look onto Theo once more.

"First, my trophy. Then, my best friend. Now this!" Blaise's eyes zeroed in on the man's attire. "She's just _taunting_ me now!"

Theo thought that a part of him might have found this all _more_ amusing than not had he not been standing outside on a very chilled evening practically topless. He'd had a plan. He'd thought it was a _good_ plan, at that. He'd even had a song prepared! Stubbornly, he tried one last time to set the record straight but found himself silenced by the previously prodding, previously waggling finger of the man in front of him pressed firmly over his lips.

" _Zzzt!_ " Blaise hissed. "Well, _you_ —Mr. Theodore Leather-pants—can march _right_ back to your foul bitchstress and tell her that I, _**BLAISE ZABINI**_ , will not be beaten! She can't just man-degram me and expect me to fall, too! Our house is a whole hell of a lot stronger than some platinum vocals and well placed body jewelry! She can do her worst but I—no, _**WE**_ will prevail in this Aca-Battle! So, you tell her. You tell her that, from me!"

A second silence stretched between them, Blaise's finger resting as angrily as a finger could rest on Theo's lips with the taller, leather-clad man blinking very slowly down at him. Theo caught and held Blaise's irate stare for several moments as many pieces of the oddness of happenings at this place congealed in his mind and he came to a definitive conclusion.

Blaise Zabini did, _in fact,_ like men.

Never breaking from Blaise's stare, his lips slid smoothly against the length of Blaise's finger as Theo opened his mouth. His tongue, treacherously wet and soft and slick, dragged a hot line from the base to the tip in a deliberate fashion. As the tip of his tongue flicked off the top of Blaise's finger, he moved to gently tug that unsuspecting finger into his mouth with hardly more than a slight, yet insistent, puckering of lips and hollowing of his cheeks.

Blaise's eyes grew wider and wider by the second.

Theo tasted the hint of salt and sweat of skin, his lids drooping and a low rumble of satisfaction bubbling up in response. One that may or may not have sent every inch of Blaise's skin a-prickling.

Blaise appeared as though he wanted to say something, his mouth dropping open wide, but any words he'd had died in his throat when Theo's tongue engaged in a gentle massage along the underside of his digit. It slid languidly and rocked slow swirls of pressure against the sensitive skin for some the longest seconds he'd ever experienced until Theodore drew back. He dragged his top teeth over Blaise's finger to reach the tip once more, withdrew them from the skin, then soothed the light scrapes with some of the plumpest lips Blaise had ever recalled feeling pressed to any part of him in all the years he'd been alive.

With one final, soft _"pop,"_ Theodore finally released the digit in favor of speaking in a private, accent tinged tone.

"Pansy did not send me."

The noise that escaped Blaise then was something akin to a strangely pitched squeaking and squealing sound of air being released from a rubber balloon.

Theo grinned.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Hi. :)


	35. Chapter 35

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 35**

The sound of rhythmic, heavy breathing punctuated by intermittent rattling snores greeted Hermione as several internal alarm clocks began ringing in an attempt to tell her that it just might be morning o'clock. She utilized every fiber of her being to attempt to resist this persistent wakeup call only to fall into a light doze and find herself jolting back to a bleary state of consciousness seconds later. With an inarticulate noise, she peeled her eyes open and tried to make sense of her foreign surroundings.

The first thing Hermione sussed out was the simple fact that she was on the floor. Well, the _actual_ first thing was that she was _naked_ AND on the floor. The rather posh feeling fibers of what could only have been a horrifyingly expensive rug pressed against her skin where she lay on her side and she could tell that a very firm foundation was resting beneath that. The second, and decidedly more pleasant, sensation she woke to was the warm curl of a body neatly tucked around her from behind. This, she quickly placed, was the source of the even breathing that helped stir her from her sleep. As she slowly went from groggy to alert, she also noted the weighty band of a heavily tattooed arm draped over her mid-section, a lightweight quilted throw tangled around her thighs and calves, and a very prominent heat—much warmer than the rest of this snuggling body—nestled flush up against her backside. If she'd been at all confused by that point as to what exactly had happened the night before, seeing her knickers and Tom's snazzy little bowtie hanging off the corners of her repurposed bowling trophy would have been enough to set her straight.

They'd talked thoroughly and at length.

It wasn't the first time she'd found herself in bed—or…on floor —with Tom Riddle and, although she didn't fancy herself much of cuddler beyond the snuggling of small stuffies, she had a very difficult time resisting the slow smile that spread across her lips. There was an equally undeniable tickle of womanly satisfaction that made its way into her limbs as well when she spotted the pair of Tom's silky pants hanging off one of the microphone stands across the room and details of that adventure returned to mind. It was all accompanied by a somewhat uncomfortable, though not wholly unpleasant, fluttering in her stomach that made her feel a bit as though she'd like to vomit.

The sudden need to extract herself from Tom Riddle's cuddle made itself known.

That and the sudden urge to pee.

With a mission and careful, deliberate movements, Hermione made to sneak free from the press of Tom's arm. Delicately peeling the darkly inked limb from her person and tucking the throw pillow she'd been laying on in her place, she climbed to her feet wobbling like a newborn calf as a pleasurable ache from the evening before pulsed between her thighs and made her knees jellylike. She must have made a noise because Tom shifted suddenly, rolling onto his back and pulling the pillow along with him to snuggle it to his chest. He muttered something about soggy chicken tenders and Donna Summer before taking up a steadier snore than the one he'd been having moments ago.

Hermione quirked a brow at that, got herself a pleasant eyeful of Tom's hardened prick standing at full "morning hard-on" attention, then snorted. "Get that rest, Rickle," she whispered, more to herself than him. "You certainly earned it."

With one last glance at the tattooed Cockney, Hermione snatched up her knickers and what wearable clothing she could find from the night before and padded lightly from The Chamber.

. . . . .

Hermione made a stop at the hall bathroom before heading to the kitchen to fix herself and the boys some coffee for the morning. She quickly found that it was much earlier than she'd originally thought when she'd stirred.

She also very quickly found Theodore Nott, half bent at the waist, rummaging through the fridge at the one end of the kitchen.

"Theo?"

Hermione's voice, still thick from sleep, still managed to pitch in a creaky kind of shock that caused the man to jolt upright. Theo's head banged solidly against the top inside of the refrigerator with a harshly hissed _"Scheibenkleister!"_ He came away from the icebox with a carton of eggs in one hand and used the other to rub at the fresh forming knot on the top of his head, eying her sheepishly. "…morning?"

Hermione was still blinking oddly at the sight of the half-dressed Theo, clad only in a pair of sweatpants and a pained grimace. "What are you…" Her question trailed off when she spotted a familiar printed logo stretching down one leg of the sweatpants he sported and she noted that they appeared to be at _least_ one size too small judging by the way his ankles and the partial length of his calves were peeking out from beneath the hems. Hermione's mouth stayed slightly open in a small _"o"_ shape when she placed where she'd seen those sweatpants before.

Theo blinked back at Hermione rather coolly.

It was, of course, _not_ an oddity to see her in the kitchen of the house she inhabited, but his eyes did a quick scan of her from head to toe and back anyway. He took in the heavily rumpled tuxedo shirt she sported with crinkled shoulders that drooped low off the edges of her own and whose shirttails fell easily down to her bare knees. He examined the shirt sleeves and how the edges were rolled halfway up their entire length and yet still fell nearly all the way down to her wrists. Inspecting her lack of attire and the untamable mane of curls sticking out in every which way, a single brow rose, almost in challenge.

The pair of them shared a long, steady look of unspoken understanding before Hermione broke the silence with a terrible, _evil_ grin.

"Breakfast then?"

Theo's other eyebrow joined the first in mild disbelief. "That is all you have to say?"

Hermione's grin flourished into a full ear to ear smile. "To you? Yes. To him? _Absolutely_ not." Suddenly awake, alert, and rejuvenated, Hermione padded more fully into the kitchen and began bustling about, pulling down her not-stolen-but-borrowed coffeehouse supplies and merrily ordered the man around. "Come on then, Theo! Pans are in the corner cabinet there, spatulas in the drawer. Spit spot! Blaise is going to need _**all**_ of his energy for this!"

With a snort and a laugh, Theo complied.

. . . . .

If there was anything that Blaise Zabini prided himself on being, it was a good host. Sure, his friends would say that at times he could be a bit "brash" or "tactless" or even "overbearing and overdramatic" but they were oftentimes just _wrong_ about their observations. He knew he was an excellent entertainer, both on stage and at house functions, and therefore _clearly_ an excellent host.

Even Blaise, however, would have to concede the point that hosts typically did not sleep with their guests.

He had rules, Blaise did. _Rules!_ One _followed_ the rules.

Seatbelts.

Coasters.

Parking brakes on a steep hill.

No sex with a man you barely know even he's gorgeous and one of the first times he's with you in private he tickles his tonsils with your index finger…

 _ **Rules**_ **.**

Perhaps it was this conflict, rooted so deeply within himself, that kept him lying in bed (long after the man had snuck out of it) with sheets that still smelled of Theodore Nott – cedarwood, vetiver, and a hint of grapefruit – pulled up to his chin.

Alternatively, it could have been the persistent erection between his thighs and the way that every inch of his body ached from the recent thorough attentions of an amazingly flexible man who had spent much of the evening whispering words Blaise didn't quite understand into the crook of his neck as he made him see technicolor stars behind his eyelids.

Alas, it was impossible to say which was the culprit.

Whatever the reason for it was, he supposed that he should get up and break the news to the poor, pretty… _pretty_ boy, that he – Blaise Zabini – was a free bird. He could not be tethered, no matter how lovely the line.

It was at that moment that he smelled the telltale smell of his favorite brand of turkey bacon and java wafting through the air to permeate the quiet safety of his room.

Blaise sighed, inhaled, got a whiff of the food and the man he'd had wrapped around him only hours before, and sighed again. "Well…" He murmured to himself. "…no sense in breaking the poor boy's heart so abruptly. Best to ease into it…" And he made to find himself a pair of shorts and a shirt to wear to deliver the bad news over breakfast.

Padding quietly down the hall, lip curling a bit with distaste as he still saw the lit red light by The Chamber's door, Blaise made his way to the kitchen. He heard Theodore before he saw him, but he still edged his way past the threshold to peer around the corner. The sight that greeted him made the strangest smile creep onto his features: Theo, shirtless and bustling about their kitchen as though he'd lived there for ages.

Blaise took a private moment for himself while the rest of the house slumbered. A private moment for him to admire this dark haired, pale skinned beauty, going about his way, pushing eggs about one pan with a rubber spatula and reaching over to flip some floppy pieces of bacon this way or that on another. It was a shame, really, but he couldn't be expected to settle down at his age. The world was his oyster, as it were. There were too many opportunities out there to get distracted by something as silly as the way Theodore Nott's shoulder blades were so perfectly defined and framed by bumps and ripples and ridges that Blaise hadn't known could exist.

 _A dancer, he'd said he was a dancer._

But he'd never gotten to elaborate on what sort.

What could he have been doing before he sang?

What was it that called for such tight calves, such impressive and well-defined slabs of meat he called thighs, such a perfectly sculpted, perfectly pliant a—

" _ **Moooooorning."**_

Blaise's head turned sharply to his right, in the direction of the dining room table where, inexplicably, the Hoodlum had emerged.

Hermione was holding a cup of coffee that was undoubtedly for him by the way the artificially sweetened syrup smelled wafting off the brew. What's more, she had the biggest, widest shit-eating grin that he had ever seen in the entirety of his young life.

And she was sending it directly his way.

 _ **Fuck.**_


	36. Chapter 36

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 36**

It was unusually quiet at the House of Gaunt's breakfast table that morning.

The sound of pans, dishes, and silverware along with the smell of food that someone else had prepared, rousted the entire house and much methodical munching had taken up in its place.

Initially, and much to Blaise's surprise, Hermione hadn't greeted him with more than that lecherous smile that she still currently sported from behind the rim of her coffee mug. He was certain she had something else she _did_ want to say, though she'd just been hanging about, sitting there, _looking_ at him with _that_ look as the others joined them.

Marcus, the most enthusiastic of them all about free vittles, entered the kitchen only minutes after Blaise had. Abraxas was soon to follow with Tom groggily making his way in behind them all, clothed only from the waist down with his hair mussed in a very atypical "I don't give a fuck" manner before he sat heavily next to Hermione, draping one arm across the back of her chair. There was very little discussion, and only mild pause between Theodore and the others as Theo offered the newcomers all a warm smile and plopped heaping helpings of scrambled eggs and various bacon strips or sausage onto plates as they settled at the table.

Blaise scoffed to himself, right into the creamy, smoothly poured and appropriately heated espresso-vanilla-caramel _something_ that Hermione had prepared for him. By all of their blasé reactions, one would think he brought men home _all_ the time! _Tch._ _Peasants—the lot of them!_ He sipped his drink with open agitation, his eyes taking a meandering path right back to the Hoodlum who was just as openly grinning at him.

Blaise blinked at her.

Her grin widened.

His eyes narrowed and he set his mug down firmly before pointing a stern finger at her. "You are _rude_."

"Noted," Hermione said with delight and started in. "Running low on clean clothing this morning, Blaise?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about." Blaise's face scrunched in feigned confusion as he plucked a piece of bacon from his plate.

"Curious," she said, undeterred. "I only ask because I couldn't help but notice that our poor, _dear_ Theodore seemed to be sporting some of your activewear."

Blaise's gaze darted to Theo, over to Hermione, then back to his plate. "Of course," he said as though it were obvious. "He arrived very late last night to check on everyone while _you two—_ " He paused to motion his fork accusingly at both Tom and Hermione. "—were preoccupied probably getting all sorts of unsanitary bodily fluids all over our recording equipment."

Tom appeared as though he was about to interject with some small bit of fuss, but Hermione cut him off smoothly and with a wink. "Don't worry, it was all very much contained. Although, if you're worried, you may want to give your microphone a bit of a wash. Never know where those things can get up to."

Blaise recoiled in reflexive horror at the thought of his microphone being used as such a toy while Abraxas choked on his eggs; Marcus snorted into his. Tom looked torn between a strange sense of outrage at the alluded vulgarity and shocked laughter threatening to bust from his gut at Hermione's punchy response. Theo, who had Pansy as a baseline for much of his local, social interaction, was largely unfazed as he consumed his breakfast and took a sip of black coffee.

Stumbling over his response, Blaise sputtered, feeling a line of heat climbing into his cheeks from his neck. He barely recovered himself and spoke more loudly as though the previous exchange hadn't happened at all. "It was LATE," he said, enunciating. "I did not want him to drive all that way back home."

"Mmhm," Hermione hummed. "So, you gave him your _favourite_ pair of sweats to lounge in?"

Blaise opened his mouth to reply, his fork lifting accusingly in her direction, and he paused. A sudden surprised look bloomed on his face. "How did you know those are my favorites?"

"I'm not blind to the fact that you wear them practically every day when they're not in the wash and you're the _most_ ornery about the dryer setting with them once they _have_ gone through. Please, Blaise? A bit more credit for your friend, here?" Hermione waved the question away, missing Blaise's softening look in her direction at her self-proclaimed title. "Poor bloke, though." She motioned to Theo. "They don't even fit him properly. If you're going to give the man something to wear after a shag, you should at least take into account that not everyone has as flat a bum as yourself."

The eyes of all the onlookers shifted to Blaise.

Blaise clicked his tongue and without missing a beat, said, "Some good advice for your Mister, then, also, Hoodlum. Don't worry, though. Tom _does_ have an obscenely more impressive set of breasts in comparison to yours, so it's a bit like standing in the shadow of giants when picking through his shirts."

The group followed the volley back to Hermione.

"A mouthful's all you need, Zabini." Hermione shrugged. "Not your fault that you were born with such a big one, though. I understand your perspective on it is a bit skewed."

Marcus spoke past a mouthful of food and gestured at Theo with his fork, interrupting the snark flying back and forth across the table. "Speaking of your ass, though. How did you get it to look like that? I've been working a lot on sculpting my glutes, but yours have just a particular way to them—" He cupped his hands around an imaginary bum before him to illustrate the lean, firm shape to Theodore's rear.

Though Blaise looked mortified at the question, Theo simply nodded and swiped a napkin over his mouth. "Plié and relevé."

"Bless you," Blaise said reflexively.

Hermione snorted, earning her a scowl from her housemate.

"What?" Blaise hissed, looking around the table for some hint as to what was so funny. To his surprise, Tom was the one to speak.

"Ballet, idiot." Tom reached for the pepper shaker to vigorously shake the tiny black flakes onto his eggs. "He does ballet exercises."

Blaise's brows went up as the puzzle pieces fell into place. _Ballet. Of course he does. That would explain…_

"Did," Theo corrected, interrupting Blaise's thoughts. "Well…I still do the _exercises_ , just not performances. Not anymore."

Abraxas inclined his head to one side, suddenly interested as though something was just about to come together. "You stopped recently?"

Theo's mouth twisted into a grimace very briefly before he presented a smile that lacked the same warmth as before. "Yes. Though I still continue my regimen. It is…difficult to shake the habit of a lifetime, I suppose."

Abraxas' expression closed off a bit at Theo's response, sensing something else lingering beneath the surface there that he surmised might be rude to press on about.

Blaise, however, was oblivious _._

"Ballet sounds fun," Blaise chirped with enthusiasm. "Where did you dance?"

Theo's faked smile dropped off of his face and, for just a single, short second, there was a painful chill in the air. Then, as he looked over to the man at his side, looking at him with bright, genuine curiosity, a real one reemerged. "London. I parted ways with my company a few years ago."

At the admission, a very quick set of calculations sparked within Abraxas' noggin and he pounded the table with the flat of a hand in sudden excitement. "Blimey!" He looked as though someone had just told him he could have ice cream before supper. "I knew it—I _**KNEW**_ it! I bloody _**KNEW**_ you looked familiar!"

Blaise jumped and hissed at the shock of noise. "Abraxas! What the fu—"

"I KNEW IT! I _**THOUGHT**_ it was you! From day ONE, I suspected—OH!" Eager as a puppy, Abraxas sprang to his feet, gesticulating madly and a flush of red coming into his neck and cheeks. "You danced for The Royal Ballet! I saw you—I've SEEN YOU! Oh—bloody—fuck, I have a picture—" His voice faded in lieu of the sound of his feet pounding excitedly through the kitchen and living room then up the stairs to his room, followed by the raucous sound of opening and closing drawers as he rummaged through his space.

Tom stopped mid-egg consumption to level a skeptical look at Theodore. "You were in The Royal Ballet? And you _left_. At _your_ age?" The last question earned him a hard smack on the arm by Hermione, though he just rocked slightly to one side, barely jostled.

Despite how thoroughly Tom's gaze scrutinized, Theo merely gave him a fluid shrug. "It is a career riddled with potential for great success and for great injury. I was unfortunate."

Tom's stern gaze lessened, Hermione gave him another glare before digging back into her breakfast, and Blaise clucked his tongue.

"Oh, Theodore," Blaise said, resting a hand on one of the man's forearms. "That's an awful shame." Then, in the same breath, he turned his head to his roommates and wiggled a bit in his seat. "Though, it's still amazing! We practically have a celebrity here at the table!" He was almost preening as if he had anything and everything to do with that fact.

Theo chuckled, patting Blaise on the hand and chin nodding to Hermione. "What are you talking about? You've had a genuine celebrity here for days, now."

No sooner were the words out of his mouth did Theodore realize his error. The air in the room, while admittedly somewhat uncomfortable already thanks to the discussion about his abruptly ended career, positively _tanked._ Theo saw Hermione's shoulders go taut and, by the budding confusion of even her "not boyfriend" at her side, he knew he'd fucked up. Sure enough, Hermione's eyes – and her eyes _only_ – darted up to him from beneath her lashes and it was a pleading, _desperate_ look.

Theo stammered. "I-I mean, she performs so well on the stage, don't you think? It's—well, she is practically a celebrity, really. The people, they already know—"

Hermione's expression was ever so slightly thankful, but it was short-lived.

"No," Tom spoke and watched the tight lines of his girl's posture. "For some reason, I'm sure that's not at all what you mean."

Theo's mouth opened again to try to divert, but Blaise interjected next.

"What _do_ you mean?" Blaise asked, straight to the point. He pointed at Hermione and back to Theo. "You know the Junkrat from somewhere else?" A sudden thought had him looking more seriously at her once more. "Did she _Royal Ballet_ , too?"

"No, of course she—"

Hermione groaned, one hand swiping over her face in exasperation, for it was _far_ too early in the morning for Blaise when he wasn't on the receiving end of her taunting. "It's not a bloody _verb_ , you nit."

"Well, then _what_ is he talking about?" Blaise snapped.

"Yes, dove. What's he mean?"

At the nickname spoken firmly but earnestly in a way that instinctively made the knotted muscles in her neck and back loosen and relax, Hermione chanced a glance to her side. Tom was watching her, carefully, but in a way that managed to still somehow be bolstering. An arm had found its way back around the back of her chair and she felt a slight, but comforting warmth radiating from the tattooed limb. She sighed heavily and transitioned her exasperated face massaging from one hand to both, rubbing at her temples on both sides. "Before I came here for my Library Science degree…I went to Hogwarts."

Tom, who had already been privy to this information, continued watching, while Blaise and Marcus both straightened in surprise.

"Isn't that—"

"The best school there _is_ for the arts?" Blaise was clearly in disbelief.

"But…wait… _that_ doesn't make you any kind of celebrity. I mean, it's an expensive school, but—"

"No, thank you, Marcus, you're correct! It doesn't," Hermione said quickly, gathering her utensils and dishes as though she was about to jet. "Glad we straightened that out. Now, if you'll excuse me—"

"Wait, wait, wait." Blaise stood when she stood. "I thought you were homeless and poor."

"I _am_ homeless and poor."

"You _were,_ " Tom corrected.

"I _was_ homeless," she snapped, "I'm _still_ poor. Thanks for the rundown, Blaise, now, really. I must—"

"Wait. Wait. _**Wait**_ a second, here!" Blaise cut her off again with a chopping motion that cut through the air between them. "No. So, you went to this school and…what? How does Theodore know that you are, apparently, some kind of 'thing?' Whatever kind of thing that is."

Hermione scowled at that description but turned an equally curious look onto Theo. He'd produced one of her last playbills with the school but that wasn't enough to know what he – _apparently_ – knew. "If we're being honest, I'd like to know that as well."

It was Theo's turn to take the spotlight and he gave another shrug. "Happenstance. I moved to America not all that many years ago and was working as a stagehand at the Broadhurst Theatre in New York."

Blaise questioned him with open distaste. "You went from performing to being some kind of _prop_ boy?"

"Hey, that is hard work that does not earn nearly as much recognition as it should," Theo said so harshly that Blaise wilted, properly chastised. "If I could not be on stage, I wanted to be near it. But," he paused to nod again at Hermione, "that is when I first saw her."

A budding understanding-slash-fear began spreading over Hermione's face as she figured the years he would have had to have been working there.

"And what, exactly, were you doing?" Tom asked.

A look at all the expectant faces turned her way made her frown. She fixed that grimace on Theo. "A friend of the family had a show due to open after I was to leave Hogwarts and invited me. That would have had to have been one of several of my visits to tour the theatre…" Feeling defeat, Hermione sighed. "…and to discuss the production for my Broadway debut."

The dramatic inhalation of breath from Blaise and Marcus (though mostly Blaise) all but made up for the collective sighing and other expressions of exasperation from only minutes before.

"You were on _Broadway_?!" Marcus bellowed with excitement.

" _ **Who**_ was on Broadway?!" Abraxas screeched, freshly returned with a handful of rather nicely printed photos of men and women leaping around on stage in nutcracker and rat costumes as well as some headshots.

"Hermione!"

"The Hoodlum—"

" _ **HERMIONE?!**_ When?!"

"Theodore says that she was—"

"PILLOCKS!" Hermione shouted overtop them all, the boys quieting at once. She glowered, eyes passing over Theodore again who had the gracious decency to look at least a little sorry for spilling the beans. _**"Gentlemen,"**_ she said, "it never happened. Yes. I was to go. Yes. I toured the theatre. _**No.**_ I never actually made it there. Now, I've work to get ready for."

And with that, she moved from her seat so she could loudly slam it into place against the table and hurriedly tromp her way up to her room.

The exchange barely had time to process through Tom's mind before he chased after her.

The four remaining men, all in various states of mussy dress for the early morning, cast glances between each other.

"That all really is quite unfortunate, but, Theodore, will you sign these?" Abraxas produced his photos and Theo frowned at one.

"This is not even my headshot…"

"Yes, well, how about this one, then. I'm fairly certain that this one is you. You were the Rat King, correct?"

Theo's frown deepened as he looked at the unflattering photograph of what was supposedly him garbed in the costume, tight and form fitting all save for the scraggly, wiry, beady-eyed rat head with a gaudy crown affixed to its over-huge noggin.

Marcus inspected the action photo and nodded. "It does look like your _'arse'_ there, ' _mate.'_ " He received an encouraging pat on the shoulder from Abraxas and beamed accordingly.

Theodore plucked the marker from Abraxas' hand and went to signing.

Oddities and dramatics were not uncommon in the House of Gaunt _._


	37. Chapter 37

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 37**

" _Hermione!"_

She heard her name filter through the freshly slammed bedroom door but dutifully ignored it as she tried to focus on getting dressed.

Tom's heavy, rapid footfalls filled the upper floor's halls before coming to a halt only to have him appear after shoving open the door. "Hermione!" he called, "About what—"

"Tom, _**don't.**_ "

He hesitated, brow set to a furrow and mouth in a grim line.

Hermione didn't even spare him a glance before leaning heavily against the dresser she'd inherited from the boys. With her back still facing Tom, she shook her head and started rummaging for clothing. "I really don't want to get into it, if it's all the same to you."

Tom eyed the way her shoulders were drawn up and the entirety of her looked like she wanted to either bolt or curl into the smallest ball in existence. After a minute of quiet deliberation, he cleared his throat and invited himself the rest of the way into her room. Tom settled onto her mattress without ever taking his eyes off of her. "Get into what?" he asked lightly which drew a dark, yet hesitant look from his not-girlfriend. She opened her mouth to—well, to yell at him, and he shrugged. "I've no idea _what_ it is that you don't want to get into, but _whatever_ it is, we're not getting into it. You still can't go to work."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Do I want to ask 'why not?'"

"We've got plans."

There was a suspiciously playful lilt to Tom's voice that made Hermione's eyes narrow further until tiny slits were all that were left. "What're you on about?" Tom's bared shoulders heaved in a massive shrug and she watched bits of his inked mural blink back at her with the movement.

"We're going to The Square."

"The Square," Hermione echoed. "As in the mall?" Incredulity morphed her expression. " _Shopping?_ " She shook her head and resolved to peel Tom's borrowed shirt from her body to begin dressing for work. " _NO_. My only plans are to get paid and _shopping_ is the direct antithesis to this."

Tom dodged the crumpled mess of his button down being flung at him. "I already told you, you don't need t'pay—"

"It's not like you're the only person I owe money to, you know." Hermione dismissed him matter-of-factly and shimmied into fresh knickers and a bra. "Especially, since I botched all my bloody Broadway plans, anyway."

"Thought you didn't want to get into it."

Hermione stopped in the midst of tugging on a pair of black trousers to give Tom a withering look. "And I thought you said you didn't have any idea as to _what_ I didn't want to get into and that's why we _weren't_ getting into it."

Tom scoffed and pushed off the bed back to his feet, his hands reaching for hers when she returned to fiddle with her zip. "Well, that's obviously a bunch of rubbish, innit?" Careful to avoid the recent injury to her hand, he stilled her movements. "I've an idea, but…" he drawled, "you said you didn't want to get into it. So…here we are: _not_ gettin' into it."

Hermione exhaled heavily through her nose, gave Tom a once over, and after a long stretch of deliberation, finally teetered forward in a defeated slump to rest most of her weight on him. Tom's arms came up around her shoulders to catch her mid-flop and she sighed again, pressing her cheek to the warm skin of his neck, allowing her arms to dangle limply between them. "People from my past seem to have a funny way of showing up when I'd really like them to just…bugger off," she murmured.

Gently stroking a hand over her half matted, half frizzed curls, Tom barely missed a beat. "Shall I kill them for you, love?"

Hermione jolted upright immediately. "What?! No!" And she was met with an amused expression as she pulled back to see his face. "You're joking." It was a statement that failed in entirely suppressing her questioning lilt at the end.

Tom smirked at her and reached out to turn her towards the bathroom. "Time for a shower. We've a date for the mall."

She only mildly resisted the physical corralling to freshen up and blinked back over her shoulder. "Tom, you _were_ joking, right?"

"C'mon then, spit spot!"

" _Tom!"_

. . . . .

"Hoodlum, what about this one?"

Blaise's over excited voice beckoned Hermione over from one large display case of mobile phones to the one he was currently lording over. He was slurping from an oversized coffee drink procured from the food court despite his earlier protests that it was 'terrible' and 'nothing like the concoctions Hermione made' and had gotten him hooked on from home.

Hermione arrived at his side and swatted his hand away from where he had a finger firmly pressed to the glass. "You're getting fingerprints all over!"

Blaise flinched back from her slap for just a second before huffing at her and smacking her back just as hard, eliciting a surprised yelp. "There are already a million fingerprints on the case! One more isn't going to make a difference!"

"Don't be _that_ guy, Blaise."

"Oh, pish."

From several feet away, Tom glowered with arms crossed over his chest as Abraxas and Marcus both scooted in from their own browsing to show Hermione a multitude of shiny things that caught their eyes.

The whole outing had been for Hermione but—unsurprisingly—the whole damned house invited themselves along. Tom wasn't about to cancel his plans, though. The idea of Hermione roaming around the city without any way to ring him in an emergency weighed heavily on his mind since she'd hurt herself. And to think, he'd never even considered it until he'd missed her call and it struck him that he had no way to reach her directly.

Well…that wasn't entirely true.

He'd not _missed_ it, after all. He'd _screened_ , seen it was his uncle's shop, and ignored it, not putting two and two together at the time.

 _Bloody idiot._

Tom recalled listening to her message, her voice the meekest and most timid he'd ever heard it, seeking him out for help. The waver and tremble in her tone had sent his blood rushing in his ears and when he'd called back, he'd gotten whatever bint it was working the till who couldn't have been more disinterested in telling him where she'd run off to. Truth be told, he couldn't remember what he'd been doing or the transition from whatever it was to arriving at the shop.

His glower deepened, his mind replaying over the events even as eyes tracked his crew around the shop. Marcus pulled some glittery phone case off a wall of accessories and presented it to Hermione like a proud pet hound while Abraxas argued about its color clashing with the body of the phone he was very insistently trying to sell her on.

"Shall I take the men away so you can have a moment?"

Tom was startled from his brooding by the smooth voice of Pansy's shiny leather man-pet, Theodore. He straightened, an attempt at feigning disinterest, and was greeted by Theo's sheepish expression.

"Sorry. I thought I would check on you. You seemed very…" Tom raised a challenging brow at the pause. Theo shrugged. "Peevish."

Tom scoffed at the directness of it. "Sod off." He made to rejoin the others but was stopped short by Theo's hand on his arm.

At the sudden tensing of all of Tom's muscles, Theo quickly released the man from his grip and raised both hands in way of placation. "I just wanted to say that I am sorry. I did not mean to make your girlfriend uncomfortable this morning. I thought maybe you would like some time with her?"

Tom's glower came back in full force.

"We're not together," he responded snappily. "And anyway, she likes them, so…" Tom trailed off when Abraxas made a terrible face and squawking noise at some old model flip phone Hermione was showing him.

Tom didn't notice his own words falling silent nor when his icy demeanor cracked and, instead, his lips curled into a smirk as Hermione huffed and puffed and flailed at his blond friend. With a telltale planting of her hands on her cocked hips, she proceeded to tear apart every piece of his protest and fuss over her preference of practicality while simultaneously drawing awkward stares from the staff and other customers.

Theodore watched Tom's stare go distant, letting out a soft _hm_ before excusing himself from the other man's side.

. . . . .

As resistant as she'd been about going in the first place and as knackered as she was after the full day outing it had become, Hermione found herself in an altogether decent mood come the evening. She'd chased off all the boys after a great deal of fuss over trying to show her all the features and capabilities of her shiny new phone. It was about the time when Blaise was instructing her on how to actually use her phone as a _phone_ that she lost her temper and shooed them all away to the furthest reaches of the house.

It's not as though she'd not seen people use the damned things enough—typically while they were supposed to be working or on the opposite side of the counter staring dully at _it_ instead of _her_ to place their drink orders. She had more than an inkling of their capabilities even if she had never owned one herself and anything she didn't know she could bloody well look up on the school library's computers.

Honestly, she was _homeless_ , not a bloody _Neanderthal!_

 _ **Used**_ _to be homeless._

An invasive voice that all too closely resembled Tom's cut into her thoughts.

Hermione dutifully shoved it away and nestled further into the warm weight of far too many blankets and pillows. She curled on her side, appreciating her hard earned silence, and quietly thumbed through the screens of her phone with as little guilt as she could manage. It was difficult to _not_ feel bad over being treated to an exorbitantly expensive device after a long day of toiling over it, especially when she was certain she did nothing to deserve such a thing. Hermione couldn't deny, however, that it was so very much fun to fiddle with and _**damn it**_ if it didn't feel good to have something _nice_ again.

The device she now cradled with more care than she might a newborn babe had caught her eye the second she'd crossed the threshold of the store. After seeing the pricing on it, though, Hermione stubbornly resisted the pull of its boldly listed features and brightly colored screen. She did very well dissecting the persistent arguments of both Blaise and Abraxas whenever she would point out completely reasonable alternatives in lieu of the unnecessarily fancy technology. She'd almost made it out of there with something solely practical and not at all aesthetically pleasing, too.

Almost _._

Hermione's scrolling thumbs paused, recalling how innocent Tom had appeared when he'd finally stepped in to join them in the final stages of her decision making. She burrowed deeper into her blanket fort with a scowl and a tinge of color over her cheeks and nose.

 _Conniving snake._

He'd nodded at her and picked up the phone that she'd _obviously_ decided she would pass over—since he was going to insist on his silly _'I'm buying you a mobile, blah blah blah'_ nonsense—and commended her decision on such an impressive piece of equipment. Tom swiped and tapped and browsed through the thing and when Hermione corrected him on her choice, he'd turned the most astonished look on her in question.

" _Really?"_ he'd asked. _"You didn't want access to these?"_ And he'd proceeded to flip the phone screen back in her direction, giving her an extraordinary view of an extensive list containing _hundreds upon **hundreds**_ of digital versions of novels and audiobooks at his literal fingertips.

The time between then and walking out of the store, new phone in hand, remained a bit…foggy. When it became clear that the digital literature that teased her interest was only accessible via a paid account and Tom "The Sneak" Riddle plucked the device from her fingers to provide access to his, however, Hermione realized exactly how bamboozled she'd been.

 _Bwoop!_

The bubbly alert tone startled her out of her guilty brooding and a small notification of a text message slid into view from sender _Cockney Twat._

 _Found anything you like yet?_

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the message and imagined a rather self-satisfied smirk on the man's fool face where he resided on the opposite end of the hall. With that image in mind, she glowered and tapped out her reply: _Aren't you supposed to be sleeping?_

Another tone interrupted her begrudging browsing through Tom's collection of books.

 _I'll send some recs,_ read the reply that blatantly ignored her question.

She huffed and responded back, her nails clacking dully against the vibrant touch screen: _Goodnight Rickle_

Before she could dismiss the message screen completely a large blocky message bubble filled the screen with several titles that succeeded in catching her interest. She nearly fell prey to the call of the books but managed to shake herself free of their clutches out of sheer spite.

 _GOODNIGHT_ , she tapped out harshly and hit send.

 _Goodnight, Dove_

Hermione allowed herself just a _few_ more minutes of browsing and bookmarking titles before truly getting settled in for bed. Just as she was reaching to place her, now silenced, device on the nightstand, it vibrated. Rolling her eyes, Hermione grumbled more fondly than she intended, "What the bloody hell _now_ , Tom?"

Except it wasn't her _Cockney Twat_ this time but a message from some number she didn't recognize.

Furrowing her brow, she tapped it open.

Her heart dropped into her stomach immediately upon reading the two words waiting so innocently there for her.

 _Hello Bug_ , the message read; unsigned.

Unsigned, Hermione knew, because only one person from her past ever called her that.

* * *

 _ **A/N:**_ Hi everyone! Long time no see! I had been so busy with and exhausted from work for so many of these past months that I really hadn't had any quiet time to sit down and dedicate to writing. Things are kind of rough at the moment and I am between jobs once again due to some unfortunate circumstances at my last position so I appreciate everyone's patience and support during my lull in writing, it makes dealing with unpleasant things easier! As always, I hope to get back into the swing of things and I continue to appreciate your support and encouragement towards these efforts. :) Hope to see y'all again soon!


	38. Chapter 38

**Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 38**

 _Hello Bug_.

Eyes huge and disbelieving, fixed to the glaring screen of the phone, Hermione gulped. A dozen dozen thoughts flew through her head, all of them circling back to a single, militant one.

 _NO._

Hands trembling, Hermione's fingers twitched over the virtual keys. She started a reply, stopped, then deleted it all, shaking her head frantically and chastising herself with a hiss. A deep breath and a moment later, she tried again, this time wincing a bit as she tapped out a reply to this unsigned sender.

 _wrong number sry_

Without waiting for a response, she fumbled through a few option screens before finding what she needed and blocking the number. With shaking hands, she held the device at arm's length, watching still the illuminated screen until it dimmed, no other message forthcoming, and at last went black. Hermione stared at the darkened screen now for another minute or two longer until, finally, she breathed out a sigh and resigned herself at attempting sleep, reaching to place the phone back on her nightstand in hopes that she could.

 _THUNK!_

Hermione jolted upright, stifling a yelp and dropping her phone on her mattress instead. Her head snapped towards the window where she'd heard the noise and, with a loud gulp – and against her better judgment – she slipped from beneath her covers to look. She made a show of it, she knew she did, with how slowly she crept on her toes and drew aside the curtain nearest to her. The edge of her face peeked just beyond the window frame and out into the dark, dimly lit night.

Hermione's window faced the house's fenced back lawn where it butted up against their rear neighbor's, one side of it lined by low lit streetlamps stretching high above the fencing. Immediately within eyeshot and a stone's throw away was the boys' old seldom used swing set. It was an artifact from Tom's young days no doubt, though she'd only ever caught Marcus and Abraxas occasionally entertaining attempts to "swing over the bar"; it was there she saw _him._

" _Fuck!_ " Hermione hissed and came away from the window sharply, sinking into a tiny ball beside it as if it would help a thing.

Her phone buzzed again, then, vibrating atop her bedsheets.

Hesitating for just a second, Hermione launched to her feet, came around the bedframe, and snatched up the thing from her mattress.

A new message from a _different_ unknown number greeted her: _Stop it, Bug. Come down before I come up._

She read the words once, then again, then one last time. The final time she scowled at the nerve of it, suddenly more angry than anything else. Tromping back to her window this time to rip the curtain aside and full on glare down at the male figure swinging lightly on one of the chain swings. From this distance and in this light, she could only make out the flare of orange from the tip of his cigarette as he took a long drag. When he tilted his head back to exhale, though, she swore she saw the cheeky spread of that too-white smile that she'd been certain was left in the dust a while ago. With only a bit more fussing Hermione clothed modestly, opened her window, and prepared to climb her way down to meet him, avoiding the creaks and groans of the floors and doors of the house lest she wake her boys.

But not before sending a curt message, fierce in its simplicity to the smoking, grinning Percy Weasley who awaited her descent with open arms.

 _You're a fucking twat_

. . . . .

Proficient in many unlikely things, Hermione descended with deft grace, boldly ignoring Percy's chides and attempts to coax her down to his arms. Feet planted firmly on the grass, she glowered up at his face, letting an irate silence fill the gap between them. She allowed her eyes a scan over his neatly pressed attire, the crisp edges of his shirt, trousers, and jacket visibly sharp even in the dimness of the evening. Only his loosened tie and the mussed pompadour of fiery ginger hair added an air of dishevelment to his demeanor.

Cigarette between his lips, he drew deeply again, the tip flaring like a tiny glow bug. Smoke curled from behind grinning teeth with a short puff through his nostrils at the end. His voice broke the silence, accented Cockney speech with the familiarity of home. "Been a while, my Bug."

With that, Hermione's hand flashed out and caught him clean across the face. Percy's head snapped to the side and stayed there. "How did you get my number so quickly?"

Long lashes moved as he blinked, head still turned. He took a final drag from the stick before methodically bending to drag the ashy tip across the raised sole of one of his glinting dress shoes to extinguish it. Tossing the thing down and absently flattening it into the dirt with the ball of one foot, Percy turned his head forward.

He raised one finger. "First, _ow._ " And then one more. "Second, no ''m sorry for dodgin' you and makin' yer bloody task one big pain in the arse, Percy'?"

Hermione slapped him again, his head barely flinching aside this time.

"Right," he said and hefted her in one swooping motion up and over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Opening her mouth to yell at him, Percy halted her with a warning, the smirk clear in his voice. "Ah ah! Don't want to wake your new pup, no?" At that she stilled in his arms though he continued walking. "Relax, anyway. We're just to talk. You'll be back in no time," he spoke, unwinded, even as he was slipping Hermione's weight from his shoulder and onto the swaying swing seat he'd vacated moments ago. "Snug as a _Bug_ ," he paused to tap the tip of her nose with a finger, "in a new bloke's house and bed."

Her anger dissipating some, Hermione clasped the chains of the swing and started somberly, "Percy, I—"

He stopped her with a snort and an upheld hand, reaching with the other into the inner pocket of his jacket for his smokes. "I'm just giving you shite, love. Ours were good enough times, but I'm not sour about it." Percy paused thoughtfully, holding a new cigarette between his lips and a small silver lighter with its flickering flame igniting the handsome, angular lines of his face. "Not anymore, in any case." He drew in a long breath of smoke and exhaled the next, "Mum's another case entirely."

" _Your mum_ ," Hermione began ruefully, "always thought I should set about with Ronald, anyway. What's it to her?"

Percy shrugged and it was an aching show of striking fluidity flowing beneath the sharp edges of his suit. "We're interchangeable when it pleases."

Hermione stopped the gentle swaying she'd fallen into on the swing, toes digging into soil to stopper her movement and her hand came out automatically for the closest of his; her anger was temporarily forgotten. "I'm sorry, Percy."

As quickly as it came, the somber mood dissipated when he turned to see her, that perfect grin plastered on his face once more— _my Perfect Percy_ she'd called him more than once for more reasons than one. Hermione would have been lying had she said her heart didn't flutter just then.

Percy drew her hand to his mouth in another fluid motion, brushing his lips over her knuckles before settling back into his own swing and letting her grip fall away. "No matter, anyway. M'not here for any of that." He inclined his head towards the house, suddenly businesslike. "You've been sloppy, _Miss Granger_ , ever since you've taken up with that one."

Remembering her earlier agitation, Hermione faced forward again, resuming her sway as well. "How did you get it so fast?" she rephrased her earlier question.

"Not exactly hard when you've an entourage of giggling fools, now issit?" He turned to her wide-eyed, something near genuine astonishment in his look. "I've had tabs on you ever since you started mucking about at that pub with these fools."

"They're not fools!" Hermione hissed, swatting his arm. Thoughtfully, she added, "Moody?"

Percy gave her a noncommittal shrug.

Hermione sighed heavily, shoulders slumped. She set her gaze back on the house in the direction where Tom's room would be, his facing out over their side yard instead. "You're working." It wasn't a question.

"Yeh," Percy said softly, nodding and taking a drag.

"Is it still…" Her voice trailed off but had an unmistakable hopefulness to it.

"Your mum and dad miss you, Bug."

Hermione swallowed and swung in her smallish seat, chains rustling in response. Her thoughts shifted to a multitude of places, flooding her head stiflingly until she shook it to clear them all. "I've got some debts to settle before I see them again."

He let her words sit there a while. "I know," Percy said simply, then, "Hermione, just a word and those debts—"

" _ **No**_ _,_ Percy!" She snapped. Hermione sighed and more softly murmured, "No. But thank you." She eyed the general direction of Tom's room again, muttering, "You're as bad as him."

The lines of Percy's somewhat serious profile lessened though his tone darkened. " _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ ," he said. "Adopted boy of the Gaunts, hailing from the nicer parts of London even though he, himself, did not. Heir to the family inheritance after they departed, God rest their souls. Currently using his funds to pursue, full time, a major in philosophy and an apparent musical delight as head of his little boy band with as much aptitude for the art as you before you went underground." Hermione's breath caught audibly. He smiled; it was a dangerous thing. "We take care of our girls, Bug." It would have been a clear warning, that list of coveted information, if Tom had been faced with it then.

As it was, the sentiment rung in her ears, clear and the same as the one Tom spouted when he thought he was the first of his ilk that she'd ever been with. She snorted inwardly at that. If only he knew the half of it.

"As bad as him," she said again.

Percy glanced at her, interested. "He takes care of you." A question and a statement, both.

"Yeah," Hermione replied, dipping her head to stifle a smile.

After several long beats of quiet, Percy smiled, too. "As I said, then."

"Percy…" she began, hesitating, "…are they…are Mum and Dad well?"

He nodded. "They miss you. They're as sorry for the fallout as you, Bug."

"Yeah…" It wasn't really an appropriate response, but it was all she had for a while.

"Percy," Hermione started again, "just a bit longer."

Percy sighed, resigned. "I'll send word through the twins that you're well. And Hermione—" It was Percy's turn to hesitate. "You give the word—on _either_ front, debt or home—and it's done. Understand?"

She nodded.

They both let the curtain of a familiar, comfortable silence fall between them again. Hermione reached out to take his hand once more, his other moving to withdraw and replace his cigarette to his lips in a habitual rhythm and they swung lightly in the night's cool breeze and dim streetlighting nearly until dawn.

For so many reasons he'd been her Perfect Percy, this was just another to add to the lot.


	39. Chapter 39

**Aca-Playlist:** Bitch by Meredith Brooks (...for like two seconds.)

* * *

 **Aca-demic Arrangements**

 **Chapter 39**

Her night on the swings with Percy passed both too quickly and not quickly enough.

Whether she would admit it aloud to any or not, Hermione's irritation at his presence swiftly faded to give way to a relieving familiarity. Percy, the man that she came to know before all fell apart on her whims and choices, was one of the few fixtures from her past that did not bring only terrible memories in his wake. Unlike much of what she would have left behind at Hogwarts or back in New York, Percy's presence brought so much of home with him; a home full of mirth, joy, and love.

The lightening skies had been the timer on his visit and, with it, as he'd risen with one final cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth, he'd asked her again.

"You're taken care of?"

Even as he helped her up, his stare was focused in the direction of the house.

"I am. By all of them, really."

Percy turned to her at that, eyes a bit large and brows up in question.

Hermione flushed and swatted him.

"Not like that!" She paused and added, "…a bit like home. And at the Burrow. Well…before it all went tits up."

His expression softened and something in it made Hermione understand he was willing to let it rest with that.

Percy walked her to the side of the house, plucking a card from a pocket to hand her before giving her a leg up. She took her handholds where she found them, slipping as quickly and quietly back into her room as she did out of it hours before.

Hermione spared one last look down to the redhead, his clever eyes shining with a warmth that had nothing at all to do with the emerging sunlight.

Pointing at her, he said, "Keep it. Use it if you need me. I'll be in touch, Bug."

With that, he went, retracing the steps he'd taken to get there and plucking up his flattened cigarette butts on the way. Hermione watched Percy's disappearing suit-clad form as he hefted himself over the yard's fence with practiced ease and a catlike grace. Off he went to whatever role it was he entertained there during the day as cover for his true specialty— "people finding" as he liked to call it.

Unexpected as it was to hear from him, from _home_ , it lightened her heart to know that she'd not entirely sundered and burned all her bridges.

It was with those thoughts forefront in her mind that Hermione fell back to sleep sprawled atop her bed amidst haphazardly drawn sheets, squashed pillows, and a stuffed orange cat and plush otter.

. . . . .

The smell of cooking meats and other breakfast items stirred her from her rest.

Hermione cracked open her eyes and peeled her head from a large puddle of drool that had collected merrily in the face shaped imprint in her pillow. She smacked her lips drowsily and swiped at her mouth with a bare arm. Drifting back to consciousness through fuzzy memories, the recollection of Percy's visit startled her to wakefulness.

Jolting upright, Hermione blinked about her room only to find her window and door shut and latched from the inside and her phone sitting innocently on the edge of her mattress; nothing out of place. Relaxing somewhat, she sat cross legged on her bed and plucked up her phone, unsure of what she was hoping to find. When it illuminated at her touch with a display that was just as innocuous as everything else, the disappointment that crept into her limbs left her feeling hollow.

Home. Percy had been a touch of home. And just as quickly as it'd come, it was gone.

Sighing heavily, Hermione tossed the phone back to her sheets and rubbed at her face, stopping to hold her head in her hands.

The days had been filled with so much strategy and toil, the constant attempt to simply get by from one hour to the next and then the one after that. She'd not had time to think about home and how she'd left it—how she'd left so much of the good along with the bad.

Not until Percy brought those less unpleasant memories with him.

She certainly hadn't realized how much she yearned for it all until it was gone once more.

Hermione shook the intrusive thoughts away, scanning her sheets for the card Percy gave her. Snatching up the tiny rectangle of cardstock, she held it between thumb and forefinger, lids blinking rapidly to clear her vision. Her eyes lingered on the gilded lettering:

 _WEASLEY & WOOD, LLC  
Legal Advisory and Representation_

She snorted despite herself, some of the melancholy feelings replaced with amusement in the face of Percy's daytime occupation. "Law, Perce? Really?" she murmured and traced the letters with her thumb.

 _Home_.

She could go back. She could settle things with her parents and—if his card were any indication—he could likely square away the rest of her issues with only mild fuss. Hermione never truly doubted him, of course. She'd never had reason to in as long as they'd known each other. For better or worse, Percy's word was bond and he was tenacious enough to see everything through; tenacious yet patient. Her parents had sent him to bring her home, that much she'd gleaned from their chat, but he wouldn't drag her back until she was ready. He could and would wait it out.

But, if he so happened to give her an easy out to expedite her decision, it was surely just some kind of coincidence of sorts—surely.

Lips pursing with a sudden thought, Hermione tilted the card again until a barely visible watermark caught the light. If she hadn't known what to look for, she would have missed it but once seen it was there, clear as day.

 _JUDICATE  
_

With a grunt, Hermione threw the card aside.

. . . . .

 _Deja vu_ _…or near enough to it,_ Hermione thought from her spot at the breakfast table.

Surrounding it were all the normal occupants of the House of Gaunt—herself, Tom, Marcus, Abraxas, Blaise—plus one very unperturbed looking Theodore Nott who was merrily munching on another delicious breakfast that he had fixed for them all.

Hermione considered the familiar non-roommate across from her where he sat between Blaise and Abraxas with an open appreciation. "How do you get your eggs so fluffy?" she asked Theo whose head bobbed once as he finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

"I whip them with milk." He nodded towards the fridge. "You had quite a bit of it in store, I hope you do not mind that I used it." He loosed a small laugh and smiled brightly then. "Actually, I wanted to ask, where is it that you found such odd looking containers? They did not have any labels on them, so I was not sure at first—"

"Yes, _Hoodlum_ , where _is_ it that you found such generic, unmarked food service containers of milk?"

Hermione blinked up at Blaise who was looking at her very intently. She quirked a single manicured eyebrow and smiled at him in a way that was more a baring of teeth than anything. "Same place that I get the other supplies to make all of my handsome boys their favorite drinks."

Blaise narrowed his eyes but eventually lifted his favorite coffee beverage in her direction in a small salute before noisily slurping it up through a straw.

Theo looked between the two of them, brows furrowed and made to speak when a muffled blast of music came at his side.

Everyone at the table startled save for Tom who rolled his eyes with a groan when he heard the lyrics filtering through Abraxas' pajama pocket.

 _ **I**_ _ **'m a bitch, I'm a lover**_

 _ **I**_ _ **'m a child, I'm a mother**_

 _ **I**_ _ **'m a sinner, I'm a saint**_

 _ **I do not feel asha—**_

Abraxas fumbled the phone from his jammies, answering brightly, "Good morning, Pans!"

A series of additional groans and grumbles erupted from the table except for from Theo who tucked back into his food.

"Lost my bloody appetite." Tom rose from his seat only to be held in place by Hermione's hand on his wrist.

"Tom, come on. It's just Pansy. Sit back down and finish your breakfast."

He snorted. " _Just_ Pansy. Are you forgetting all the shite that she's bothered you with since hearing you?"

"Sod it and sit down, ya nit. She's just on the phone, anyway, it's not like—"

"O-oh," Abraxas stammered, the first word in since his chipper greeting. "You called for _Hermione_?"

Eyes wide, Hermione looked over to Abraxas and back up at Tom who merely folded his arms in a very 'I told you so' manner. "Ah," Hermione whispered across the table, "just tell her I'm not here."

"Well, Pans," Abraxas answered smoothly, giving Hermione a wink, "Hermione is a bit incommunicado at the moment." He paused, face falling. "What's she doing?" Looking over to see Tom's sour face glaring back at him and Hermione gesturing wildly in a way he took to mean 'upstairs' he chirped, " _Tom_ , of course! They're off shagging."

" _ **NO**_ , you sodding wanker!" Hermione blurted and Tom slapped a hand over his face, letting it fall away languidly in disgust.

Incessant screeching erupted from the other end of the line causing Abraxas to peel the phone from his ear lest he go deaf. "Sorry," he whispered apologetically, wincing at the spikes of Pansy's excited shrieking. "Misinterpreted that one."

With a heavy sigh, Hermione cradled her head in one hand preparing herself for the onslaught of the other woman's energy and held her palm out for Abraxas' phone. Abraxas apologized once more, making for the hand off only to be intercepted by Theo. At the surprise of his onlookers, Theo quickly held a finger to his lips, requesting silence and tapped a few icons on the screen to flip the call to speaker. Gently setting it down between them all, Theo gestured then for Hermione to answer.

"Uh…" Hermione cast a glance over at Tom who shrugged and finally sat back down at her side. "Um…hello?"

" _HERMIONE! My sweet, sweet acapella Cinderella! How's Tommy and little Tommy? Have you been nursing his poor ego back to health?"_

"I—"

" _I meant to have Theo talk with you this weekend but I missed him before he left on Friday and he hasn't returned any of my calls—"_

Her eyes drifted up to Theo who had, again, resumed eating. This time he was cutting up a breakfast sausage rather methodically before savoring it in bite-sized pieces.

"— _must have run back home or something. I was going to talk to you sooner, too, but—oh, you know how things come up when you're a star!"_

"Pansy," Hermione said harshly, "What do you _want_?"

" _The schedule! Well, to_ _ **give**_ _you the schedule!"_

"Schedule?"

" _Our schedule!"_ At Hermione's lack of immediate response, Pansy continued. _"Our_ _ **rehearsal**_ _schedule? You know! Now that you_ _'re part of the group you'll—"_

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, _**whoa!**_ " Hermione sliced the air with one hand and leaned closer to the phone, a stern grimace upon her face. "One time, Parkinson. _**One.**_ That was the agreement."

Pansy snorted on the other line. _"Oh, come on, 'Mione!"_

"That's not my name."

" _Oh, come on, Hermione!"_ Pansy snorted and corrected herself, unfazed. _"After seeing how well you meshed with the BASSic Pitches, do you really want to give it all up?"_

"Yes, absolutely. Goodbye Pansy."

" _Wait, wait, wait! Don't hang up!"_

Hermione's hand was poised over the end call button. She sighed. "What?"

" _Don't you want the money?"_

"You already gave me my cut—thanks, by the way. We're good. Bye Pans—"

" _Wait, wait,_ _ **WAIT!**_ _I_ _'m not talking about that money! I'm talking about_ _ **Nationals**_ _money._ _"_

At the mention of that, the air at the table grew suddenly still and overbearingly silent.

Hermione felt Tom go rigid at her side and she looked to him in question. The line of his jaw was taut, his arms folded, but she could see the twitching of muscles in his forearms from where he clenched his fists out of plain view.

Her eyes still on Tom, Hermione asked carefully, " _What_ Nationals money?"

" _Just the hugest prize pot ever! Like a hundred gazillion times bigger than the one at the bar!"_

Hermione let her gaze wander around the table to take in the dark looks her boys were shooting in the general direction of Abraxas' cell phone. Even Theo had stopped eating finally and shook his head with pursed lips, silently excusing himself to clean his mess in the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed and she spoke again, "And what exactly would I have to do for _that_?"

" _Easy! Just join us! It doesn't have to be forever if you don't want, but if you at least join us for competition season and we take the pot, your cut will be from $25,000!"_

Hermione gaped. "Twenty-five _thou_ —"

"That is **enough** , you screechy bitch!" A hand reached out and snatched up the phone.

"Blaise!" Tom jumped to his feet in warning, swiping an arm after him.

"No, no, Tom! This beady-eyed Buffy has got some fucking nerve!" Blaise scoffed. "Parkinson, you've had some bullshit schemes in the past but if you think that we're just going to stand around and let you sabotage Nationals by hiring a fucking ringer, you are SO mistaken! Hermione is _our_ Hoodlum, _not_ yours!"

Hermione goggled at Blaise. "Aren't you the one always threatening to call Moody on me?"

"It's out of LOVE, Hermione," Blaise snapped back. "And anyway—" He returned his focus to Pansy. "—if you expect to win Nationals running up against _us_ , you'll need to actually get _other_ worthwhile people for your little group. One piece of bonafide talent isn't going to cut it."

A plate clattered into the sink and a series of sharp gasps cut Blaise's tirade short.

Eyes wide, understanding flooded Blaise's features and he whirled around. "TWO! I meant two! Oh, Theo—"

Theo shut off the water and cleared his throat, wiping his hands dry with a dish cloth. He spared the others a short nod of formality before a tight smile strained his features. "Excuse me."

Blaise shoved the phone at its owner to follow after Theo. "Theodore! Theodore, wait! Baby, I'm sorry!"

" _ **THEODORE?! Theo is there? RIDDLE! Tom, I know you're there, too! What the fuck are you playing at? Why does everyone but me know where you guys live?! Abraxas, what the fu—"**_

Abraxas took the phone off speaker with a tap and a grimace. "Sorry," he said in Hermione and Tom's direction. "I'll take care of this."

Hermione watched him leave also, lips twitching in a frown when she heard the telltale sound of The Chamber's door slam shut. She caught Marcus' eyes briefly before he excused himself as well to take on the task of cleaning up. A warm hand on her shoulder kept her from getting too far into wondering what the odd look he'd given her had meant and she looked at its owner. "Tom?"

He shook his head, stood, and offered her a hand up. "Come on, Dove."

"Where are we going?" Hermione asked even as she allowed him to tug her along with minimal resistance, gaze lingering in the direction of Blaise's closed door as they passed.

"We're going to talk about Nationals."

She stopped short. "Nationals? Tom, just because Pansy said all that, it doesn't mean—"

"It doesn't. But Pansy is persistent." Hermione opened her mouth to protest and he raised a hand to ward off the argument. "You _know_ she is. Best if you know the facts versus whatever rubbish she's going to try to entrance you with."

Hermione chewed on the corner of her bottom lip for a long moment. "Right." She looked at Blaise's door once more then nodded. "Let's talk about Nationals then."


End file.
